when did the back of my hand turn strange?
Author: 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.
green again
this dream of endless mountains
Sacrificial
Why is it this year that the familiar warbler songs sound like dripping blood or fabric being torn?
What May Come
Where did it come from, this premonition that someday I will be parted from my head?
Mother’s Day: linked verse sequence
spring azure
with my cellphone camera
stalking the sky
lady’s-slipper
alone in the forest her green shawl
cowbird song
a drop of rain for each newborn leaf
such greedy
red appendages born-again maple
waning moon
the angels didn’t fall they were pushed
spring kitchen
one garlic head’s green tongue
snow in April
a face pressed against the train window
big wind
lost in the small hairs of hepaticas
