MATT GANO
Dust
The wind is a novice
instrument, a loud puckered
mouth.
The wind is a novice
instrument, a loud puckered
mouth.
Now the winter lays bare its dead
When I was a child a bird fell from the sky and landed in a doorway in front of me.
Spring will come and with it the audacious dirt
love:
how is it?
stop off some miles after the WY border stand over Tongue River
full body of a deer
Both hands large enough to palm a globe
Just as a fishing boat passes
between me and the rising sun
1.
stole guilt from the guilty, became guilty himself
“As these odes accrue, they flesh out a life lived in company, which is quite the opposite of the solitary character of the Mary Ruefle Iâve long held in my mind.” âTyler Barton