The Garden After Rain
Mara Voss · July 26, 2026 · Garden
The garden after rain is not clean. It is only more itself: soil darker, the rose leaning into its own weight, a snail writing its silver signature.
Read the whole poem
A journal of short lyric poetry
Poems for the hours
nobody writes down
New verse published each week — on salt, distance, quiet houses and the soft hour before a city begins.
This week
Archive
Salt and Morning
July 12, 2026A harbour wakes slowly, and so do we — salt on the window, light on the rope.
Instructions for a Quiet House
June 30, 2026Leave one lamp burning. Rooms remember the people who forgot them.
Field Notes in November
June 18, 2026The orchard counts its losses out loud, and calls the sound weather.
A Small Theory of Distance
May 29, 2026Distance is not the space between us but the time it takes to mean it.
The Long Hallway
May 4, 2026Memory keeps a hallway open: doors on both sides, none of them locked.
Aubade with Traffic
April 21, 2026Even the city has a soft hour: the street clears its throat and begins.