Journal of Writing & Environment

Here, it’s the angriest season:


stroke of lightning tears the stomach

from the sky, humming, heat like

a palm wet & pressed against a mouth


blinding, quiet, August-heavy,

soft & immovable as a keepsake.


Slow gust of wind picks up my life

by the shoulders and sets it down

miles and miles from where it used to be.


Only the lightest things can carry

the heft of your voice–pouring into

and out of the sunlight, covering everything.