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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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