the sassafras follows a crooked route to the sky
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 tree too tall to stay
shadows of six-inch weeds stripe the stump
in the spotlight’s glare
the dark sky dissolves into snowflakes
wheel half-submerged
in dry meadow grasses the old hayrake
bare quarry rock
just half a mile away already looks blue
old corncrib
kernels of sun on the bare steel
slow-moving stream
only a slight shimmy in the ferns’ reflections
shining viscera
I want to pick out all the hairs
hayfields
Taken from the top of the mountain where I live (obviously not a towering peak).
insect collection
A display box had been set on end, and when the late afternoon sun passed through it, it left this … More
grand old flag
