AMP. Always Electric.

Volume 4, No. 1


We were here on a frayed, woven runner 
under the cloudbanks of Easter. We ran
our fingers over its lacquer-smothered 
panels. The pillbox held old sand and three corners 
of velveteen, strands of a pelt, our torn sense 
of tides, while in the sun sat a white bowl of oranges. 
We read from the script on the map. Curve truly. Light 
in the lens. Speak and hold fast. Dusk in the bay,
we read, and the blush of waves slipped shyly out to sea.

Tobias Peterson

Tobias Peterson holds an MFA in Poetry from Texas State University. His work has appeared in The Gulf Coast ReviewColdnoonPhantom Drift and elsewhere. He lives Portland, Oregon, and teaches writing at Clark College in Vancouver, Washington.