In the end, it never ends.There are red toads everywherethis summer and the children playthat game where they stomp them,then switch each other with hazelbranches and run to the forest beforeGod has a chance to see. You can’t reasonwith the brats and you can’t tell their fathers.What would you even say to their mothers,whose hands…

And yet, somehow, the day remained open.The bark you touched finished your thoughtslike a stiff drink.  Sometimes, all you could think aboutwas a merry-go-round. Sometimes your eyes saw greyand looked like wood smoke.  But this day was the colorof being pulled on, of driving too far East.  A house, a house,another house, and then a…