“why are you collecting rock?’ i asked
“because they’re in my fields,” he said
“i want the crops to grow.”
we were silent a time.
“i also like them heaped at the ends of the rows;
little monuments to labor.”
“why are you collecting rock?’ i asked
“because they’re in my fields,” he said
“i want the crops to grow.”
we were silent a time.
“i also like them heaped at the ends of the rows;
little monuments to labor.”
moon behind clouds
shows her face
bare trees
they reach upwards
i rise to let the cat outside
it had been calling out
and in my sleep
i heard it
the sky is pale
the air frigid
the cat and i pause
for a moment
we each witness
the stillness
porch boards with frost
small animal prints
here and there
trees moan in wind
sun casts a rigid shadow
birds to the feeder
swooping down
in some pattern
i do not yet
understand
two butterflies
dance
fluttering
madness
joy
the dryer tumbles
rhythmically
the day turns over from
night
crows caw
tidal waters
rock
tidal waters
no rock
the nights are cool
and soon
more blankets on the bed