(2012)
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.
tension stretching strings of muscle in the dirt warmth next to wildflowers, my feet stepping in prayers.
before you go, things left undone. loose ends, too many to tie so quickly.
the still rising sun calls to you to rise; early morning dawn light brings you to a particular log and leaves you there,
we held the dream between our holding hands. we held our hands in the warmth of my coat pocket
A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.
Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in… almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s just too easy
After close, the image loosens until it is just being held together.
everyone sees the red-torn deer ca… the mess made dragging her to be shouldered, everyone gawks and shifts the weight of
leeks bursting seedpods, equinox of our summer, moon becoming full.
jump in the truck, and disappear in moments measured in rust, that flakes off in the friction of…
Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s
refreshing to know there’s still n… that’s unsure of its footing. love that’s unsure of what to do a… standing in the truck head-light g… feeling small
something feels as though it is at unease because it has not settled.
the best strawberry is the smallest, not-in-the-garden strawberry that grows between and beneath the grass and tallgrass