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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.