1.
Listen: the winter has left us
naked
in the worst way.

2.
At night, the zombies stomp out
our wheat crop. It’s
expected—we tilled
the soil too close
to a cavern’s mouth.

3.
Damnit, Meryl—you
stack wood like a lazy Sunday.
Like grazing cattle, so thick
with flowers.

4.
I am sorry.

5.
It is morning and the sun
so full of bees. I am
changing—please forgive
the sudden
wolf in me.

6.
Bring me your detritus
limbs; I will carry
what’s broken
to a lava pit
so deep in the cavern’s gut.

7.
I’ve written our woes
on a small wooden sign:
dead dog, dead son;
carry on,
carry on.

8.
When I tell you
I aim to climb the highest crag
on this island and not
not know the first thing
about a proper descent,
I am stealing the earnest
wind.

9.
Listen: I truly do adore
the way the coastline looks
a lot like your mouth.

10.
I must
hike north now or
dig south
until bedrock.

11.
I will
will myself
to miss you.

DILLON J. WELCH is a writer from Southern New Hampshire. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Big Lucks, Gargoyle, Hobart, PANK, and others. He is the author of “I Fall in Love with Every Attractive Woman I Meet” (NAP 2013) and is Poetry Co-Editor for the online quarterly, Swarm. Find him at: http://ratrapss.tumblr.com.