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.

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

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

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

like the name says, we were there together. and it wasn’t long before we had built a fire and stargazing became staring down

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

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

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

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 cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s

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,