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.
A dream is like a small animal that disappears when you chase it
but will come back if you offer it food.
Unlettered in death,
we are immune to even the most appalling cliches.
border terrier
this time I only merit
a brief sniff
on the morning
of my departure leaves bordered in frost
unsettled sky—
studying the markings
of bark beetle larvae
bound tight
by a dead leaf—
cleavers
In advance of a flight,
I feel increasingly restless and unmoored.
still nodding
where the fisher broke cover
foamflowers
It staggers me
to think that I owe my existence to the most athletic among a crowd of sperm cells.
shadbush
pale as the memory
of shadbush
Grown old and grizzled,
you no longer have to wonder whether her scent is meant for you.
