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      October 26, 2018SonnetKristian Doyle

      Each evening we climb
      a slightly higher hill,
      look down again
      into the city’s basin,
      say This is the view.
      Yesterday’s was something,
      but this … Then,
      after looking over
      the old landmarks,
      we point to the hill
      of yesterday, and say
      There we were,
      and what a view
      we had … But this

      from #61 - Fall 2018

      Kristian Doyle

      “I’d like the poem, if it can, to speak for itself. My background (Liverpool, England; resolutely unliterary working class) might have something to do with my poetry, but then again might not. (I’m certain it has something to do with my reticence when it comes to talking about poetry, though.)”