Read a micro-conversation with the author here.
You would tell me about Ulmus alata and the moths
notched on its twigs. You liked the particular.
I would tell you about the bark cracking the sidewalk,
how a thing can look like a noise. The wood—
it must be dead—mouths Ganoderma lucidum,
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Jeremy
When your wife died from pneumonia last winter, I thought of the sycamore we climbed in your backyard. The tree’s mottled crust gripped our toes, and from the lowest branch, […]
Nel (Tenebrae)
Micah was missing again. It was Easter, a slow spring. Grandma swept the porch and said “not one foot.” Sitting on the tractor tire, we peeled its tread and heard […]
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