Marked

Before she saw Rothko’s colors before that late-life baptism
she was a parochial pagan bowing to a mediocrity of wheat
fields. Fine enough for a county-bound girl in Oklahoma gold
iridescent grain speaking seasons: combines, bales, harvest.

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The Letter

No, the bad news hasn’t reached me yet,
though my body’s been preparing for it.
We’ve come a long way from the Pony Express.
Still, the distances have been challenging
to cross, the obstacles to overcome—
childhood, some bruises and broken bones,

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Candle Ice

Candle ice slips in sheets off the shelf
over the river where it sneaks out into Lower
Tangle. Small grayling gang the shallows
for what floats by, old lake trout hover
in deeper water for stray unwary grayling,
and our waders double as overgrown

Continue reading… "Candle Ice"