One by one, the windows light up as the elders lean toward the street— their boys grow in the darkness, appearing larger in silhouette each year as they round the corner.
Appalachia
In the rhododendrons, something stirs. Tar paper shacks on the black slope lean in the direction of the wind. The dogs tense and bristle their coats, their master adjusts his head lamp.
Their orange hair quivers as they bay into the valley. A pine tree bends with the weight of some invisible animal scaling the branches.
The grass moves at the edge of the field in waves and small eddies, then stops, then begins as the dogs collect their senses beneath the brush.
The moon passes by a long cloud, then rolls into the darkness. The ground shudders, a constellation of headlamps defines the body of the forest.
visitation
the grey arms define the impressions of gravity,
her body presses into his suit
like a child face down in the sand