a painting of a heron
Category: water
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.
throbbing
a hundred ways at once—
wood frog party
A small box of leftover parts
from all the broken things I tried to fix.
trapped in ice
the cattails shape-shift
into clouds
Sound travels more slowly in the cold.
Over the next four years, some words may freeze before they leave our mouths.
