Veil
In this low place between mountains
fog settles with the dark of evening.
Every year it takes some of those
we love—a car full of teenagers
on the way home from a dance, or
a father on his way to the paper mill,
nightshift the only opening.
-Todd Davis, all rights reserved
You can read the rest of the poem here.
Some Heaven
The rabbit’s head is caught
between the slats of the fence,
and in its struggle it has turned
so the hind legs nearly touch
the nose—neck broken, lungs failing.
My boys ask me to do something
but see no mercy in my plan.
-Todd Davis, all rights reserved
You can read the rest of the poem here. This link will take you to Todd Davis' homepage.