“but the world is full of troubles and I have not much reason to think myself pestered with many”

news sacked in wet plastic on the porch

the maple bare

last night I trailed an elk sleep-teetered

from tussock into muddy runnel

she bounded off

can the world tell us how to wed it

I’d like

some article of faith welded to my brain-bone –

cast iron copper sheerest organdy a peck of pickled peppers

clear black ink – or send

at least Keats’ sparrow before my window

to set the day to rights.