I forgot to pull the lever to wash away my fever as they handed me the cleaver so I thought that I would die fry cry sigh like the wind crowding through a lonesome tree that’s free and wants to be uprooted polluted convoluted like the trail of a snail in a crooked shell that’s …
Snow fills the air and blankets the ground, blankets the hound, the home, the piles of round logs waiting to warm us, ready to be fed to the fire, fodder for the heady warmth seeping into our clothes, our hands, our cherry faces; those snow-packed gloves, scarves, coats leaking water on the hearth. Piney scents …