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

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,

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

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

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… almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s just too easy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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