A cold and cloudless January day—perfect for a long walk on snowshoes. No one’s been on the trail for days. Voices around the next bend turn out to be a flock of robins.
snow-bound trees I’d like to die on my feet
Published by Dave Bonta
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.
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