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.

we held the dream between our holding hands. we held our hands in the warmth of my coat pocket

when you get started and you don’t… start digging slowly and softly, move things around. i turned over a rock

everyone sees the red-torn deer ca… the mess made dragging her to be shouldered, everyone gawks and shifts the weight of

something feels as though it is at unease because it has not settled.

the still rising sun calls to you to rise; early morning dawn light brings you to a particular log and leaves you there,

jump in the truck, and disappear in moments measured in rust, that flakes off in the friction of…

it is March now. winter hangs on while spring looks on waiting.

A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in… almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s just too easy

leeks bursting seedpods, equinox of our summer, moon becoming full.

some metal piece out of place disturbs everything and suddenly i’m windbound on a calm night. left to my own devices,

the best strawberry is the smallest, not-in-the-garden strawberry that grows between and beneath the grass and tallgrass