the only trail signs
are in Bear
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.
winter wonderland
the dog digs up a pile
of frozen guts
thirsty dog
the pond’s ice creaks
under her weight
forsythia
blooming in December
so much for kigo
old jawbones
lying at right angles—
my camera is a phone
mountain road
the forest within a forest
of porcupine quills
ancestral masks
the eyes go back
to being shadows
I dreamed the angel of death was a bland functionary
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
In a dream, I extricate myself from your embrace
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
I dream I’m possessed by a demon who gives me seizures.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
it’s not winter
it’s white springtime
#fakenews
As the green drains from the leaves,
why doesn’t it pool underground
like a reservoir of eternal summer?
