Working alone in the house,

I look to the solitary sculls

passing on the river

for a sense that I am

among others. The geese —

my dogs — convene in the yard

near the water. A summer

in which much has passed

is now folded and put away.

The quiet is like a pie

behind glass, uncut.

– Jessica Hornik

This poem appears in the August 28 print issue of National Review.

The Corner

The one and only.