“We dreamed with flowers.

To see and be seen, to co-create, to transcend a single space and make something new together.

We asked the world to give.

To feel and know magic, to hold vulnerabilities – our own and the possibility of someone else’s.

We prayed for rain.

To move slow, to be uncomfortable, and sit in the tension.

We tended to affect.

To witness growth, our own and also the blooming of another.

We hailed technicolor.

To unfold in soft supple cosmovision.

We lived against the grain.

To lean into the discomfort of our own tender parts.

We rested in query.

To grant permission for our own failure knowing it can lead to learning something new.

We excavated graves.

While breathing and moving slowly in the practice of witnessing – our own hearts and the heart of another.

We searched soil for sunflowers.

To explore blooming while sitting in tension, to grasp and heal through reciprocity.

We danced with vinyls’ whirl.

To breathe and breathe more slowly in the practice of witnessing another.

We walked emotions down.

To give and receive in abundance, to tend to gardens and weep over generosity bestowed upon us.

We eschewed to lie.

To dare, to trust.

We preached practice.

To be curious, adaptive. To unveil.

We bellowed from seas’ bottom.

To be like flowers blooming, to be a gift back to ourselves.

To be love, loved, and Loving.”

Kalvin Cummings


Anna Hedges

choose you, I could
Even the brevity of a Ray, held,
I offer this gift
to all that lives
with flowers

Forgive me if I forget to remember what this means to you
As it wanes, then fades to residue contrived Painted on like that of a mime

Forgive me when I forget to remember how this drama goes
Lord of the Dance, her backbend poise perfected on in a line ending with polished finish

Forgive naught the curve
it flexes to deceive
with a gesture to express what this means

Forget naught to bend
In light of your dancer within
that is how the drama of a smile goes

drape me in wonder
and rest inquiry
this material marvels in color

whisper sweet everything
to rouse jealous giggling
Now you know they’re all green

lean in darling
close the distance between We’re old friends, it seems

Run along Time
too much has past
This coat never fit better

what happens in a dream of quiet men?

do they move slow
as Arkansas under summer sun or listen like the Nolichucky River runs?

do they collect together
or wiggle wring and dance
as dandelion under the moon

maybe they live
where rare rolling hills hide wildflowers

the shape of envy in the beginning formless it was over crimson
face void the spirit of the Risen

God, Lord of the seas
finished nothing in seven
days deep shaping the face of these waters

Wading in dance to the song we played the drum still beat and spring
colors the way we see


what has beginning but no end, where mourning begins.
what has beginning but no end where does morning begin?

Wing Man

a stomach full of butterflies
crosses over to enter a tavern
nerves flutter as the odds are never
in our favor

better when we brave them together
you and i against the world
of overused pick-up lines and antiquated bases
Re-inventing what closing means

to us
transforming the shifting dust
between two beers
craft enough to build wings

There are no birds to save me
this morning
to call my attention to the glass pane behind bed frame.

There is no song, no note
anchoring my body to this bed.
which on some days might be a good thing

Today is quiet with no sound sinister enough to trick me into belief
no picture of order as song sparrows flee to the margins with the procession of jays

They make it sway
back and forth, this small house teeming with life it leans to disordering things sparrows and juncos retreat to branches wrens wait in turn

conscious and unconscious movement
contours of viewing for this body
are best within a cage
of glass panes, shackled in chains, the glass house sways

I flee to the margins
With their procession inside And like the wren
I wait in turn.

my grandmother said it was a demon a match set for Meriweather
except, in her words, “he is losing”

her god, their god, where was mine?
Guilt and Shame demagoguing the event of boy loving him God seemed set that way

faiths’ greatest Adversary, a form of love
quandary’s expression lie dormant the size of a mustard seed root the mind of this boy against the ropes

calling the match distracted her from seeing demon, held no candle
to the monsters surrounding me

Round and round we whirl

in this world to there from here

Never knowing what there really was

Or where there really is

Looking. he cruises on Tuesdays wide-eyed and half-chubbed

he calls it prayer. And there on his knees hails for more on our behalf

we dance in time upon commitment around what either will admit. Selah

we whirl in conversation

round and round from where to

there knowing

Love rests here.

twenty-seven years indentured
yielded brakes for interrupting
foot traffic, I number the steps you take to approach me

Twenty-seven years accidental
collision due to miscount
inventory more than a list to check twice count seven pairs of everything to fill the ark

precious grains shape stacks of rice
I pray for rain twice
because God always visits at the precipice of things created

float wade and wait
for any sign of life
will descend like a dove and return as a swallow

Poetry // Kalvin Cummings

Photography // Anna Hedges

Web Design based on Bailey Eshbach’s original print layout

Contributors: Mack Rogers, Jacob Danielsen-Moore, Jason Flack, Tyler Shortt, Javi Gary, Jackson Marion, Aaron Free, Jared Roach, Roy Doan, Zac Wilson, Noah Cole Davis; Aunt Willie’s Wildflowers, Marcella’s Bloom Supply, *a leftover floral arrangement from Allyson and Franklin’s Wedding, Kroger and Food City Floral Departments; shot close to the hollers on a Mamiya RB67, Fuji GA645 and Canon R5 on Portra 400 and SanDisk SD cards in 2021-2022.