Poetry – Page 29 – zakschafer.com

it is impossible to meditate on a wind howled porch

moon harvest on morning tide

i build stairs from earth and coat them in earth

in admiration of all the minds not my own

Oregon’s oldest tree

a grifter’s picnic

when taking a day off is more work than work

in the East i saw rhubarb already

maybe tree

52 Hurts; cycle 4

52 Hurts; cycle 3

52 Hurts; cycle 2

52 Hurts; cycle 1

stems are coated with fine thorns. bark grows papery as it ages.

sunday night your nails begin to grow back

the difficulty of sharing in excitement

if a schmuck like me can do it

detritus of breaking

coastal plumbing

baylight

in support of scaffolding

converted garage apartment on a moonrisen street

closing early

the dispassion of waking