I live like a clapper in a brass bell.
All summer the sounds of gunshots shudder
and I am a note hanging in their spell.
The woods behind me echo their stutter;
like men, lightning strikes the birch and aspen.
All summer the sparks of wildfire shudder. . . .
Explore related work
Sean Cho A. ignoring possibilities. like. the memory of water. // like. how this glass of water was once in the stomach / of the very last woolly mammoth. . . .
Susie Meserve We drive two hours to escape the ash. / In my friend’s new SUV with the kids / tucked into a movie in the back. . . .
Melissa Balmain Within these golden walls, this honey scent, / no anxious question makes my head go numb, / no frantic, topsy-turvy argument.
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