When All Is Said by Michael Largo
published in Volume 6, Issue 2 on June 1st, 1999 This house is a crow
that picks at something in the grass.
We are inside, in its stomach.
We climb its ribs with a candle
that gets blown out when we
reach the lungs.
The sound of tractors
coughing up the morning dampness
into the sky which is a clean
Buckets with rusted bottoms
pitchfork and shovels lean against
smoking thin splinters.
You tell me you like living here.
I look at my hands.
I have nothing to say.