‘Round the ankles of the birches autumn water gathered, murky – winter held it down til frozen cradled gently in the hollows – skirts of ice surround the low limbs stopped mid-fling by frigid wind embroidered not in poodle, plaid, suspended there, upended, glad – wee peeping frogs, asleep, adorn a petticoat of moss and … More When They Finally Wake in April
i. The broad face of the February field is tilted to the falling snow – broken cornstalk stubble waiting for the razored plow. ii. The snow, the field, the fog rolling in waves off of the lake, a blank page. The split rail fence, the bare trees, the broken barns, black parentheses. iii. Beyond the … More Three Fields along Highway 42
Buttery light spread/ on this white November wall/ winter’s knife is slow.
Behind me a man at the Minneapolis airport says: “I’ll see you at the Midwest Poultry Show” except what I hear is not that but “Midwest Poetry Show” which makes slightly less sense but it’s too late, I am already thinking of their sleepless night, all the poets waking before dawn and coaxing their … More Midwest Poultry Show
Fall wind scatters flocks/ Birds and leaves, from branch to sky/ Have we stem, or wing?
It’s a Thursday in May after five when I swing into the Piggly Wiggly with two bikes on the back of my SUV, and the dog inside; The woman slicing my deli ham struggles with the wrapper on the summer sausage, limps like her hip is bad, too; she paces, trapped behind the glass cage; … More Crivitz Piggly Wiggly Philosophy
So Mercutio cried – and before and since and ever, the years start over in darkness, the face of the earth turned away from the sun; The calendar is a ragged thread of a winter sweater snagged on a fencepost nail; it’s a ball of yarn spooling out into the future, bouncing across the kempt … More Ask For Me Tomorrow And You Shall Find Me a Grave Man!
I. After we see paintings of the sea, and moonlight, and doom by Winslow Homer, after we work on income tax forms and insurance and eat carnitas burritos and watch Netflix, I don’t feel well, it’s not a bellyache or a hangover or a fever or something that CVS can fix. it’s like this existential … More Wes and Jesus Come up Empty
All the birds rise up/ fragments of lake taking wing/ undone, becoming.
I. On the way up to the lake house, the back of the vehicle jammed with things of this earth: snacks, casseroles, a snowboard, three pairs of snow pants, a snow shovel for the ice rink, skates, sleeping bags, water, wine – and after passing barn upon barn, acre upon acre of crumbling stone and … More 22 Years Later
Halfway North 