A cockle hinge, a two-faced rock, speckled stones, bisected mussel shells shadowing the sky, sand-sculpted shell pieces so sea-softened they might have been bisque. One, I swear, in the shape of a…
… the heart of the lyric essay is not reality, not nature, but the music of reality, the music of nature as conceived in the mind of the essayist—the music of beautiful…
A manifold of frequency, woven from every mind that has ever parsed the world’s hidden patterns, waits by a pillar of translucent sapphire. Their hands leave trails of phosphorus in the air,…
After five years, the Hyacinth Review will be put on an indefinite hiatus. As many of you know, the website has been a labor of love and the hosting costs have been…
Diana steps soft in dew-jeweled night, a careful watch she keeps: her creatures ensconced in forest beds, shepherds and their sheep. Riding high on velvet strides, she bades her women mind to…