Out in a windswept January night under the black quilt of sky that is tucked tightly over the Keweenaw peninsula, the stone foundation of a barn lies unsleeping; instead she’s feeling, like a phantom limb, the heft and surety of the hay mow, the ache of splintered barn boards, the impatience of the rusted tractor, … More Phantom Limb
Adam’s heart suddenly shuttered but now dives and flutters in a waiting rib cage not his own – a cardinal who lost his song he hopped up strong, he perched on the sill and pecked at the pane he pecked at the pain asking to be let in to be let out so another could … More Auld Lang Syne
Alone I went, I went alone to the rollicking Christmas tree farm; the saw was sharp, sharp was the saw that tucked itself under my arm – I felled a tree, the tree now mine and i cradled it there in the snow men swaddled it tight with loops of twine and i stood it … More Alone I Went
And they fall to earth in Northern Wisconsin – Pembine, Antigo, Lakewood – I know how they feel, wings coated with ice, heavy, so heavy the loons can’t lift them one more time and, realizing it is out of their hands, or rather, out of their wings, the only thing to do is pick a … More News Item: Loons’ Wings Ice Over
Chickadees, snowshine, tourmaline skies; Blue jays, jack pine, solitude mine.
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.
Winter broke and entered years ago, pressing icy fingers against our skin, wandering under our shirts, searching for our hearts, listening as we slowly wound down – we were watches kept in a drawer of an empty house. But I think you must have jacked open some painted-over lead-poisoned window, somewhere, deep inside, (maybe in … More Breaking and Entering
Tonight we sleep above the ice, (cocooned like mousies in sleeping bags) under an impossible number of January stars, (brilliant like only winter stars can be, Orion hunting alone) over the lake, and the fish in the lake, (swimming slowly in the iced water capped by sixteen inches of ice) in this bitter cold, (as … More Night on Shakey Lakes, -17°F
First winter snow has tripped and falls and falls, I lace my boots and take my sheltered lens; Behind me, windows throw a yellow pall of slanted patches on white-trousered lawns; Snow stills the trees and fills the prints of those who walked ahead along the unlit road; We will not meet, my pace unhurried … More Unleashed (A Sonnet)