that photo-negative sun
when I close my eyes
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.
wind-sculpted snow
my caravan
of one
no jets
for hours the sky
unlined
daybreak
in January
only crows crow
Smell Pox
I lost my sense of smell for just two days. When it came back, the first odor I noticed was soil.
just at the point
of running away
white-tailed deer
trail maps
the easy chair’s
mountain
snow
whiter
oak
hanging on
to a single wing
old spiderweb
on a path
swallowed by forest
horned moon
purple
stripes on trees
nothing’s private
as for me
the mossy side
of the trunk
