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

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

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

tension stretching strings of muscle in the dirt warmth next to wildflowers, my feet stepping in prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

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.

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

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