[prose poem]A little genesis, please. It’s the ink, Lord. It feels like you forgot to make the ink make the words. Let it not
MOUNTAIN AVENS This is when the birds start to lay eggs. And this one starts to uncoil. Today the sky is most unfriendly. Downright
The trails slick and soggy after three months’ snow and rain. Water fills the woods, floors all the low places with slow-flowing brown and
once the last air raid ended we gathered ourselves, looked left then entered the main road — the sun splicing heat into our skin.