Where the Hunter Holds
Best to face east
with the front door
out of the forest.
Best to face east
with a daughter’s room,
windows in bloom.
Best to face east
where Venus steps
out of the forest.
Best to face east
where the hunter
holds the three-star
sword, the east
punishment. The three
Marias are sleeping
in their room,
dreaming of the tomb
where they can’t find him:
feet or shoulders,
winter maker.
They slip in sleep
out of the forest.
Best to face east
when you wake.
Stories of Stone
Best to face west
when you confess,
heart come out of your chest.
Best to face west,
the full riverbeds,
the threads of questions.
Best to face west
for running home
to stories of stone.
Best to face west
where the sun has met the edge
of white oak forest,
arrowheads.
The farmer found them
as long as he could remember,
not a deliberate hunter
but after a rain, they rose,
again, again. He stepped
down off his tractor,
and the last
he found before he died, a cache
of weapon heads
of stone, he returned to the rise
to the west.
Best to face west
when you ask.
Just put them back,
he said, back in their place.
