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Poetry

Sacred Incipience

Then I saw the tree—dead, fallen years before, limbs snapped raw like broken bones, its trunk a shroud-less corpse still teeming with life.
Mark Hiskes
July 20, 2021
Poetry

E Pluribus Unum

I measure, saw, drill, and rummage for more scrap wood, the garage air redolent with the sudden grace of Christmas tree, the gift of century-old spruce when cut.
Mark Hiskes
July 20, 2021