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

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

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

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.

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

the Aurora roared above us and in sweeping, arcing curves mimicked the path of the luge.

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

something feels as though it is at unease because it has not settled.

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

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

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

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