poem

My father’s grandmother had love in her heart,…

Brambles wind through the fence intertwine with the…

Fog burns off under light saved for this…

September sun is just coming over the…

them vacant eyes stare right through us an’…

Now he notices the hills have turned…

Silas Peacham sits astride his aging Minneapolis Moline,…

Night opens a door into a cellar— you…

The next day the poem unwrote itself….

*You did what you knew how to do,…

All along this lost coastline where narrow afterthoughts…

When the axe slipped this morning I went…