"But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a different idea?
Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?"

-Kenneth Fearing

Monday, August 29, 2011



The  skyline

over the tablelands

makes the sunset seem


a universe

unto itself.

“Proof,” you say

“of a painter’s hand.”

I say the sun,

is larger than it looks,

yet a dust mote


to the distance

between us.

Now look,

out there,

across the dirt,

as far as you can see.

Those specks

against the hills

are buffalo.

                           -Brent Allard

Saturday, August 6, 2011



There are ghosts in your eyes

but you won’t name them.

Tonight, the voice of god

is a bird call, shrill,

from a branch

Tired, yes, tired,

and what you’ve carried,

you can’t put down.

You’ve waited,

for a burning bush,

or a light in the road,

to knock you from your horse,

but there’s only the wind

chipping ice from the edge of the roof.

                                -Brent Allard