Miniscule monsters rising from the tideThe stasis of the geese in flightRising just high enough to keep their breasts from brushing the treetops. The two pairs of bluebirds giving me hope.Their song stolen from themAs soon as it left their throats. But they had somewhere to be and were going there together. The bark ripped from the cottonwoods, …
There must have been other colorsbut I remember the trees clothedIn the dull drab browns and greys of winter.The color of death. One stone then the next. The fallen trees. The sound of water.The trash of 100 years ago. The land that once sustained other peoplesIs welcoming me in, making it hard to climb out. I …
How do you tell someone that what you gave up was too much? The pocket of sunlight on the ferns.The acorn caps in my pocket.The names of flowers traded for the smell of warm pines.The mountains keep me from flying; I can only fly over hedge rows.I sat so long a dragonfly landed on me; …