By Chase Twichell
(posted Wednesday, Dec. 10)
To hear the poet read “My Toshiba,” click here.
My mind feels split in two–
one screen dark, one lit.
The dark one can’t sleep.
Under the lake’s black ice,
the largest trout not yet caught
fins in diluted moonlight.
Even when together,
some lovers
long for one another.
I’m tracking the animal
that leaves these
splayed prints in the snow.
Little sky of the mind.
A bird flies across
and leaves no trace.
