(culled stone falls in flakes)

phased some like writing
reckoning and its obverse
milk buzzards totter

no one knows whose hill
they all just stopped and stayed there 
danced with our old names

vowels went missing
birds when birds let seen were more
sound unlike its sound

culled stone falls in flakes
paths rose knowing nine new ways
parsed and they follow      

Jeffrey Little | Sleet, Hounds, and the Horn
Contents | Mudlark No. 77 (2024)