with one eye open
it’s his vigil too
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.
negative air
the yes/no yes/no
of his breath
insomnia moon
an old face mask
in my coat pocket
through the COVID ward’s
double-sealed doors
it’s autumn
do I stay green
in the autumn wind
katydid
trumpet of the dead
I’m listening
felled on migration
the clouds in his eyes
in the pines
my ration
of moonlight
In the sun’s house
we saw for the first time what a complete absence of nuance would look like. How irresistible it would be.
insomniac eyelids on strike for overtime
driving home from the hospital
the boundless sky
snail chewing
on an empty snail shell
the autumn ahead
to each their own fall
rhododendron leaves
