Truck sounds like metal on metal– grinding coughing hard–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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