Fragments with Dusk in Them

We were taught to count kestrels on wires

like coins in our pockets.  Whole years

we recalled by color: that torch-year,

tanager, fox, sandstone, sage.  Droughts

revealed the river’s former ways, oars wedged

between boulders, a derailed boxcar,

conductor’s leather cap.  A recluse fell in love

with certain shadows spilled across

her cellar floor, and among the east’s first stars

were the occasional words jeweling-up at dusk

with junkyards, chrome hubcaps—as mirrors

struck small skies across our bodies.

“Fragments with Dusk in Them” originally appeared in Salt Hill (#16, Summer 2004).