The door to the field slamming open means I’ve held this weather in. I must attend to what pleasures are left if any. Behind the house a man stands over a thundering. You are the man filling my trees with little hells. Call back your winter so I can number the excellent dark skies in acres.
162 The Paris-American
Monica
Koenig holds an MFA from the University of Colorado. Her poems have appeared in
the Tulane Review and Roar Magazine. Monica lives, writes, and
works in the high Rockies.