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  • LAKE WATCH IN WINTER Morning lays long blue strips of shadow on the frozen lake as sun threads a white needle through the trees. Two red lights that burned like the eyes of a creature blink out at dawn as ice fishermen abandon their shanties. A pastel yellow in the eastern sky congeals to yolk. Today yields nothing spectacular, not like the afternoon when bandits in black masks rode the silver zippers of their snowmobiles across the lake’s broad back. Or the hour at dusk when a herd of…
  • BOUNDARIES Charlie wakes and BAM – hits the raw deck of boyhood running and making noise. With a sheet, he tents his morning erection, then terrorizes his brother by breaking into the bathroom naked. He fires his golden pee into the toilet, pretends to dribble his wad of pajamas down the hall, shoots into the hamper: SCORE! tipping over the basket. He prongs his pancakes at breakfast, takes his enormous energy off to grade school. I lean against the front door, facing an empty hous…
  • WHAT SAVES ME: Dusk doesn’t; dawn does. Mornings, all that new splendor, over and over and over again. Newspapers don’t, with their harpy human interest stories. But coffee, ahh coffee in a plain white mug… Graves save me, those in little cemeteries come across driving in the country, on a hill, with a view. It’s good to think of spirits having an eye for nature. Sleep and dreams do, the ones remembered, even dreams about people chasing because that suspicion, that anxiety is given i…