I’m learning among rather than this between I’ve been living for so many years.
Somewhere in Manhattan
He lets time happen when he writes
the tree line of an aspen grove.
I study him, this man in derby clothes
who walks Manhattan
to kneel at Alexander’s grave beside
a prairie girl with no lantern.
She finds stories packed in sawdust
and wood chips saved in a whiskey keg
layered with apple jacks and chocolate pound cake.
He breathes what passes. Words
settle into years.
This poem was first published in Pirene’s Fountain earlier this year: Click here.
The watercolor of aspen trunks comes from Nadine Hergenrider, my forever friend since we were both six, wandering the Missouri River hills and cliffs together. Many thanks, Nadine, for allowing me to share your work.