(2013)
it is March now. winter hangs on while spring looks on waiting.
Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s
sit in a tunnel fall at the northernmost point trip around the sun.
After close, the image loosens until it is just being held together.
the still rising sun calls to you to rise; early morning dawn light brings you to a particular log and leaves you there,
everyone sees the red-torn deer ca… the mess made dragging her to be shouldered, everyone gawks and shifts the weight of
when you get started and you don’t… start digging slowly and softly, move things around. i turned over a rock
the truck is gone. the truck is scrap. (just that one half of the bumper, just that license plate from Big… everything else is gone.
leeks bursting seedpods, equinox of our summer, moon becoming full.
Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in… almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s just too easy
A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.
like the name says, we were there together. and it wasn’t long before we had built a fire and stargazing became staring down
tension stretching strings of muscle in the dirt warmth next to wildflowers, my feet stepping in prayers.
some metal piece out of place disturbs everything and suddenly i’m windbound on a calm night. left to my own devices,
something feels as though it is at unease because it has not settled.