(2012)
the still rising sun calls to you to rise; early morning dawn light brings you to a particular log and leaves you there,
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
After close, the image loosens until it is just being held together.
sit in a tunnel fall at the northernmost point trip around the sun.
it is March now. winter hangs on while spring looks on waiting.
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.
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.
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.
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
A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.