SAVING A LOST PATH BACK

each evacuated tread cancelling a labeled dig<
  each bounding hoof-track deep as a nostril

a path contorting like a storm rudder
  or a knob on a dash – ingrown by scrub-hawthorn

deak – waree-ree-ree – tchee – tchee

  bobolinks fluffing in quillwork shadow
haw-hips detonating clay red in cold bills

  guernicas of scythed footage boiling
in the soup of the day – jacklit by vagrant strobes

  deflective-ornery path back
still – I’m going

THE BIG JACK I CAUGHT IN THE STONEPILE

& put in the cellar to tame
  ran in blurred circles ’til the farmhouse spun

when I caught him again to let him go
  his hindlegs jumping in my fist like the tractor’s gear knob
he tore a long furrow up the belly of my arm
  as if I’d been trying to kill myself

the house slowly stopped spinning
  & fell on its side – the cellar an open grave
its soft potatoes handled by cloud-shadow

boy was my arm ever starting to sing

From An Oak Hunch, by Phil Hall
Copyright © Phil Hall, 2005