Daniel Singer lives in Colorado where he edits φreHABIT Press and teaches writing and compositional philosophy. His poems and reviews have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in Contemporary American Voices, Horse Less Review and Reconfigurations: A Journal of Poetics and Poetry. He is currently completing a Ph.D. at the University of Denver and serves on the board of directors at Switchback Books.
Here, The Archeologist Says It Was An Accident
From inside the cabin I can see things never changed Some of these are incongruous grouse feathers and others are petrified leavings What never changed Things look like this Some windows have done so before which doctors Some others have bones So needles sill and flesh button up and I’ll be fine Some windows do this the same hollow sockets and we haven’t yet Some others are still full red and fell shade other collections of The leaving road is never being paved but that’s where the line goes. II. Two small boys play at tracking an animal Wearing the woods close on its back and tight Leggings of oak ivy and bramble and decorated With chiggers and lupus cornflower petals and peat It calls to the hurt bird the rodent and the bird Of no meaningful wing but how pretty a thing is evolution Today they trundle and peck at whatever thorax Whatever bustles six legs or short ventrals The nose says I know you I know you whether I am hunger Whether it is prostomium or beak or black skin shepherding Air wet fresh scat trod soil into scent wearing body Close about muscle and bristle and belly and a clean tongue One boy climbs a tall knotty pine by the fistful remembering In each direction some landmark they all look the same way Or the other boy stands at the roots a nervy guard any direction Could be the way back to the cornfields all but one will go wild