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[Near dusk, near a path, near a brook]
Near dusk, near a path, near a brook.
Near a minnow, near a ripple, near a rock—
the snowy anatomy of a horse
skeleton eroding into nothingness.
All that moved was the rake of the late light
on the fall and fold of the long field. What
if, just once, when the night pulled back its hood
to start its dark climb it noticed the dead?
What if we waited, grief eddying inside
our chests, for the dead to rise and recognize
us? But all that rose were streams. Were stars
what the gods gave up to come down among
the mortals (Near love, near beauty, near wars)?
Or are stars night’s notes to skin’s silent song? 
Beginning with a line from C.K. Williams’s “The Doe.”
Contributor’s notes: Simone Muench
Contributor’s notes: Dean Rader
[How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder]
[Near dusk, near a path, near a brook]
[Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead]