Jeremy Proehl

Frost Smoke

deer step through frost smoke
          forage, taut skin over ribs

 satellites spawn in orbital streams
         miles above my reading chair

 a raccoon kit huddled next to its dead mother
         the rescue charged to put it down

 my father once cried over a lost coupon
         while standing at the register

 I never offered my father the value of a coupon
         although I had the change in my pocket

 I shaved my father one night
          the next day I flipped a coin, coffin or urn

 In July the lavender blooms, and
         my neighbor takes his trees to the axe

 deer step through frost smoke
         ice falling splashes