Issue 168, Winter 2003
I tell you, Dad, these things unbelievable and bold
are not. Back porch houses crowd around
these small plots. Yellow, orange-trim,
brown through the branches a muddy blue
three-story peaks and drops back.
Is it always each color dirty its own way?
Evening out here into a solid cloud
falls flat and behind
black dusk trees
Dad, I tell you these things unbelievable and bold