Devin Johnston

Far out along a county roadfrom pole to pole of yellow pinecatenaries bear the load,the twisted pairs of tip and ringconnecting ear to anything.I hear you humming through the line.In blazing summer heat, each poleemits the smell of creosote,a stain distilled from wood or coal,a tarry whiff of single maltas dry as splinters, sprayed with salt,that lingers in the eyes and throat.Resinous and...

Come on, let’s start, there’s work to be done, constructing battlements from wooden blocks and a castle keep from cardboard. I play my part, a supporting role building road across the carpet, its wool obscured by a cloud of dust, elephants on the march, their buttery plastic almost edible.These are the Alps, and this the col, a fold in the quilt from which a wolf howls and hurls...