Image description: Frosted blades of glass, close up.

By Russell Brakefield

Sharp clarity in the yard today.

A river of spring snowmelt

adorns my ankles in icy lace.

The dog moves like a mountain

beneath clouds of wrecked lilac.

There is no stink here, no char

or drab blankets of smoke.

A light wind turns chimes

on the porch. The box of mint

and Russian sage—braised

suddenly in bees—hovers above

the earth. And why am I so lucky?

In neighborhoods just north

a horse runs burning from yard

to yard to yard, it’s mane and tail

flickering in the fog, it’s coal-

black back saddled with ruin.

Russell Brakefield is the author of Field Recordings (Wayne State University Press, 2018) and the chapbook Our Natural Satellite (Harvard Square Press, 2022). He is Assistant Professor in the University Writing Program at the University of Denver.