(Patrick Venturella needs bio)
The Geologist
watches fog
slide across the lake
phantom tectonic
plates congeal into continents
then dissipate mountains
thrust skyward then evaporate
a gust of wind
a species of ghost
goes extinct
he feels orogenies erosions
decay laced November
air lithifies his bones
and time peels
back layers of skin
The Lake Is Ink
spilled on ice
and Tom tells funny
stories with his hands
the camp fire
throws his shadow
against the limestone
cliff and his silhouette
hunts mammoths
and builds pyramids
his silhouette illuminates
scripture and starts
its own blog
and I’m not sure
if the heat
is coming from the fire
or your body
but our laughter
entwines moves
through the blackness