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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.
I knew for years the archaic term for refrain—
the part of the song you carry—
is burden. It carries you. Refrain, also, as in
hold back. The burden holds me back.
If I didn’t have you, my father said, passing
the fire, I’d get out to help. It made me