Dear Reader,

Crepúsculo is alive tonight and it lingers over the streets and towns in my part of the Keystone State. The chill of autumn nips at my shoulders but warm summer wind blows past my cheek and rustles the leaves on the trees. Smoke from the fireplaces in town makes my city smell like burning campfire logs. Yet everyone I pass still wears summer clothes. This moment is bright enough to witness a group of friends playing Frisbee, their bodies highlighted by effervescent shades of golden and purple light. Still, the scene is dark enough that I can't discern the features of two friends whispering on a park bench. The feeling and energy of this moment of liminal space also permeates the personal events of my life as well. I am headed from my job as a circulation assistant at the main campus library to cover for one of my coworkers at our music library. I am in a moment of transition between the hurried shuffle of pages at the main library and the sound of musicians joyously rehearsing that will surely greet me when I reach the music library. Tonight is also the 26th anniversary of my birth. I am in the space between the death of one year and the renaissance of another. As a September child born in the middle of the month between the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, crepúsculo has always defined my reality. As the walk symbol appears on the traffic light across the street, I finally realize this is a gift, because in the uncertainty of these moments there is still time to create. The lack of a definitive ending or set state of existence means that anything is possible. I can write a poem or a letter to you, dear reader. I can give the shadows of my mind shape, breath, legs, and teeth to walk the earth. I can reflect upon all of the phenomenal things that you bring to life in the hazy passage between the worlds. This issue of our magazine is a simultaneous celebration of all of these things and more. I hope everyone who reads this issue continues to seek out crepúsculo and to expand the boundaries of what can be created in that space. Thank you for joining our search party for the infinite; I hope you always dwell in the arena of limitless possibilities you discover in this space.

All my love,

Christian Sammartino
Managing Editor & Poetry Editor
L'Éphémère Review


CHRISTIAN SAMMARTINO is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of The Rising Phoenix Review. He is currently studying Philosophy at West Chester University. His poetry is influenced by life in the Pennsylvania Rustbelt near his hometown of Coatesville. His work has appeared in Words Dance PublishingVoicemail PoemsWerkloosLehigh Valley Vanguard, and Yellow Chair Review. Sammartino was a Resident Poet for Lehigh Valley Vanguard during the summer of 2015. His first chapbook, Keystones, was released by Rising Phoenix Press in December 2014.