We chose this gap to tricky moon—

feet breaking
to claimed woods
out back

lantern all
set, lightness
in lungs—the three-year-old

sits, a stalk,
to go with saying—independence.

—a slight clover, clamped hard,
whittled in the kitchen,
lights out.

Outside the library,
sticking into tired-blue
Midwest sky.

There was a song for you—joy, little
patch of poison grass, boys for Jesus,
you got your hands all wet
shouting jokes and howdy ma’am.

walked in circles, never
in the green—held
the baby, sticky, to

Westward, late crickets, refusal to sleep; hold on
grounding chains, hold me brown
rock. Specifically,
crossed the damned
amber hills.

Cleared to see
lit-up boxes,