Joseph L. Dahut is an MFA candidate in Poetry at New York University whose work has appeared in The Drake, Tail Magazine, and The Sand Canyon Review, among others. Joseph lives in Brooklyn as an educator, poet, and fly fishing guide.
The Old Yard ply of birch bark peels into lattice of moon. between light grates, I read cursive impressioned in the wood. If you breathe slow enough, you become a porch swing singing slow creeks in southern wind. the space beneath ghost & dream chokes the seams rose thorn stoking in the heat. If you nose the ground like a hound in heat, you might harvest the season’s final berries. You might catch the jaws of moon flower bloom. But If you stay awake long enough to watch photographs yellow into the frame, then the wall, then the house, then you might become your ghost.