To hear the poem read by the poet, click here or on the title.

Possum work, world's windowlust, lens of the Byzantine--

Friday in Appalachia.

Hold on, old skeletal life,

there's more to come, if I hear right.

Still, even the brightest angel is darkened by time,

Even the sharpest machine

dulled and distanced by death.

Wick-end of August, wicked once-weight of summer's sink and sigh.

September now, set to set foot on the other side,