Tobi Cogswell Pomegranate and pale green leaves shimmer their bean shapes on the brick wall, anchored by ancient stems twisted like rage. They beat out an endless message of “look at me” and true, it is impossible to look away. Other leaves broad, webbed, open palms in mid-slap shiver on each side of the road. The fanned branches capture an engaging light, an easing of the sun into its horizon. All the miracles that haven’t healed...