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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 4, December 2013


Doris Lynch
Bloomington, Indiana, USA

In the North Woods

At bedtime, we eat sky. The curve of August crescent moon slices through clouds. Silvery canoe of it. Under its shine, cicadas thrum, while nearby a blind skunk waddles down the gravel road, rattling stones.

below Orion’s belt
doe and fawn
nibble at shadows

Mottled in the dark sky, clouds part and the moon floats past. Beside it night eels swim. Kingfishers dive sharply toward the meadow where we’ve staked our tent. Hearing a loud shriek, we stare upward, following another night bird’s dive. Across the almost dark field, large bushes take on fierce animal shapes. We convince each other that we hear growls in the wind. “Coyote?” you ask. “Wolves, more’n likely,” I answer. When night quiets again, we look down to discover

on leaf-beds
late season fireflies
faintly pulsing



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