16 August 2017


Antennas pick it up, sense it first,

the slight shift in the atmosphere.

She stares into the distance. It makes no difference,

the smooth curve of grass, the design of a ditch.

Taxes are useless to stop

this landslide, the seasons of my life, those snow-covered hills.

There is no fix, no

precise design to stem the tides.

Take my love, take it down.