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

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

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.

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

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

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.