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A Childhood in Four Acts

End of October, days recede quickly into night. Leaves fall in slow motion.

A Map to Now

I thought my body was mine until it a map anyone could use.

A Pot of Red Lentils

I want to remember us this way—sun streaming through the window.

Autumn Landscape

I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.

Choteau

People only see that side of him. He is still a boy, learning to be a man.

Dauphin County

Let us not forget the desuetude of nailed-shut carousels.

Elegy Written in Dust Kicked Up along a Back Road

He took off his clothes and left them on the living room floor.

Existing Light

The leaves repeat my fall in choruses more ancient than my own.

First Law of Thermodynamics and Other Poems

I’d have guessed the winter this way, every bitter plum already singing.

Fish Hook

Lure, yes, you would know how to catch and clean such a thing.

Florette

When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.

Four Poems

This is the stupid math of loving another human being.

Holding

A spider drifted down so slowly from the ceiling on a silver thread.

Holding Our Own

A summer without passion, our selves pulled together like the leaves.

Hunting Season

Each year we fail to imagine how the days will blanch, the air will harden.

Independence Day and Other Poems

The old-timer outside the guard station was knifing his own tires.

Lucky

The pumpkins are looking up my skirt, making orange a kind of festive.

Makeshifts

Ice and evergreen and sun; three moments arranged for human looking.

Memory of a Season

The current looked cold and brown. It would freeze soon—November.

Miss Harriet

I am going to relate to you the most lamentable love affair of my life.

Night Glow

Dad was blind until six months ago, when he bumped his head in the fire.

Packing Out

The danger was my own carelessness, and now I was waist deep in it.

Pe‘ahi Poems

I see the garden far away in itself reflected in the polished spade.

Pop Rivet

Finger tracing the terrain, you hold me through autumn’s loss of color.

Prayer in Rain, Autumn Night

Show me your darkness, your nothing-to-see and everything to touch.

Reading His Poetry

She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.

Reading His Poetry

I eat what’s in front of me, as all great men do. Some wouldn’t, but I do.

Reykjavík the Beautiful

She looks in the mirror above the sink, and her image makes eye contact.

Richard II

The website said November was a good time for appreciating bark.

Self-Care at the Playground

On the swings in the park, a woman sounds an off-key minor chord.

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