return to issue
go home
It's good to know that broken
windows are still windows
& the white pine
is the only map that leads you
to where you belong
which is with the white pine
in front of you.
We were born with gifts
we were meant to give away.
Follow me to nowhere!
Say swimming when you mean
death. Hunt wild flowers
until you know if their seeds
could bloom inside of you.
There are other times,
but there is only this time.
Unrest splashes, sings to sink
whether there's water or no,
we wander to the places
we can whisper war
& not be bombed by
capitalism's older brother,
by greed's father, by want
to keep. I bring a table
to the creek when I feel
strong. Here, here, here
the squirrels make games
out of humanity.
I know all the ways home.
I don't want to be followed.
If you're holding berries
hold the clover next to them.
Cities don't think so much.
Local politicians have
regional haircuts. State folks
wear national suits. School
board members are bibles.
Every place of worship
is beautiful with beautiful words
& completely beside the point.
Sunset to sunset I study
the spikes as they appear
in the landscape. I don't want
to disappear. I want to fit here
& take up no more space.
The scientific men are writing
apocalyptic novels I hate.
Every poem is ice, thinning.