Author: G H

a handshake should be bone on bone without returns cushioning bare digits, pointing at the weighted tree limb

new fog lift the house into heady strata, making antiques of offhands before noon unseals the envelope at the door

three time the years, with a neck unlike any flower,

my stand draws the question back to the earth, poison is poison in the stem

from 1 to 2 is a hundred stakes paced out with moderate commitment, O the length, impressive if only not transparent what we do to each

keep close the rope that lifts your full weight onto the stage, head high enough to plod sunset twisting on a hook

mount the entire range from border to border, at the peak, ask who was born first, the wind holds a long tune

some day as an envelope, weak weld on fold where lick lets a drag into the mouth,

trust mail to sew a nation’s cliffs together, that’s the add

the son awakes all the other 364 with a shovel in the sky, spreading chew across the mute country, give the work

centuries of stuff knock about the truck bed: gavel, bow saw, pike, spine glue, wax seal, thumbprints, awl, a slip and fall of humans

as ever, prod, peel and break the coil broiling the trunk one holds up to the sun as unclaimed proof