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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

the best strawberry is the smallest, not-in-the-garden strawberry that grows between and beneath the grass and tallgrass