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Audio and Video

Salmon Poetry

The Penmanship of Trees

To take these lines, however flimsy, 
hurl them at the white shrouded sky. 
Animal musk absent
from the pelts of boughs



Penetrate
the white
a gluten-
Nodules that line my throat



Enter the white
amnesiac hive,
not honeycomb- or yolk- 
yellow. Beads
swarm, then—shingling,
a migration of pine needles



To cool the number of damp beads in this morning’s wind, smell the leaves and woodstuff it edged around and bore into all night; no one saw. A stalk of tree branches rocks behind the porch.

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