We find his hair in dried paint, then plant cattails to hide the corn. Inhaling and spitting out gnats she says that by the end he couldn't swallow, choked on spit.
A deck of cards on the corner. A sun led steadily away; no better for it. Sitting around in paper gowns. In deep study.
Several hundred miles of tulips. The fetlock sunk in mud. Doing what we don't need to know about to the steel spines of the violets. To the dog's nipples hanging just off the dirt. To the jade chimes.
I found the lost ice fisher with his glassed-in face. A human light, a field of frozen water. Wrapped in fur, thinking of his horse. Thinking of something else entirely: Wild cows in a silver wood.