The phonic image-
yet not her, per se—
basket and weaver together
gathered blooms from single
roots, now pulled
through gulf and glyph
to earth and death
groans scattered like grains
I would follow that
W a n d e l n *
To wander * To transform the root: Walking through plateaued Green River grounds, tracing what that maker wrote through sediment and canyon routes * Walden carried on back, writing ever to wander, to transform the roots and echoes living in this land * Calf trots, hoof caught in a bleached skull, over ground: Tracings: What that maker wrote names here * How antelope in rut migrate and mount in October, wander to transform their root genetic script * Once DDT-wrapped peregrines unfurl, recover ground, retracing what that marker wrote in songbird prey * From cliff-hung scrape, concrete bridge, who can say what the falcon hears? A wandering, transforming rotor-root * Ground traces * All that these makers wrote.
Sister Bay Birches
—white, white hairpins charcoal in our joints—
what though the wind be a lathe?
we are at the barre and watch: we stretch even so ourselves
and whisper, listen— unlatch that leather grip— this is when December starts scratching out its waltz
Julie Lein earned her Ph.D. in creative writing and literature from the University of Utah, where she also served as a poetry editor for Quarterly West and currently works as a postdoctoral research fellow. Her poetry, fiction, and scholarship have appeared in The Antioch Review, Best New Poets 2011, 100 Word Story, Colorado Review, Phoebe, Modernism/modernity, and elsewhere. She is a recipient of the Larry Levis Poetry Prize.