Lightning-torn bark lured on the lower limbs, a sym- bol of how a bole bares itself in time. I've tried to wear my sheddings so gracefully that finches will not flush at the foul capillary sheen my systolic nerve acts out its barn-raisings slash burnings by. Have a heart. Mine murmurs yes and no and yet now.
Copyright © 2011 by Zach Savich. Used with permission of the author.