Small town

Tuesday, March 12, 2019 - 1:56am

.

Annie Klus/Daily
The houses have roots here. Even the air is
entrenched, an aftertaste of passion. The breathless
trees trap with resin, and for
 
good reason. The dark fields of the republic
are sinkholes. You can melt into the earth’s black carcass
easier than you think. These hills know how
to make one from two, they were once the glaciers’
 
lovers. If in need of a guide, look to the steeple,
rising like a North Star, and nestle around
its glow. Do not be afraid if your heart
sprouts stakes. Things that aren’t bolted down
get lost here.