Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poems by Duane Ackerson   A Spruce Taunting the Sky The spruce has turned on its blue flame, igniting the wings of the sky; vastness spirals upward, a hawk trying to escape its own claws. It's hard to look up without seeing yourself below, a dark speck, small but clearly outlined, being swallowed by the snow.     For Edith Gone over twenty years, you still visit my wife in her dreams where she reminds you that you're dead and you remind her that you're more alive than most people we know walking about carrying leaky sacks of rationalization. Early composter, I can see you out burying garbage, rebuilding the ground -- shaky but still here -- we stand on.     Tall Tale In autumn, seeing a really nice leaf on a nearby tree, the river slows down to wait for it.     Next Poem
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