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

After close, the image loosens until it is just being held together.

sit in a tunnel fall at the northernmost point trip around the sun.

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

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.

Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

before you go, things left undone. loose ends, too many to tie so quickly.

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

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

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