(2013)
Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s
A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.
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.
leeks bursting seedpods, equinox of our summer, moon becoming full.
sit in a tunnel fall at the northernmost point trip around the sun.
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
everyone sees the red-torn deer ca… the mess made dragging her to be shouldered, everyone gawks and shifts the weight of
we held the dream between our holding hands. we held our hands in the warmth of my coat pocket
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,
before you go, things left undone. loose ends, too many to tie so quickly.
the best strawberry is the smallest, not-in-the-garden strawberry that grows between and beneath the grass and tallgrass
when you get started and you don’t… start digging slowly and softly, move things around. i turned over a rock
it is March now. winter hangs on while spring looks on waiting.