I take the path through the mustard flowers.

A redtail & his brother fly low over me,

search me for grasp & loss. These winter grasses

in an uneasy meadow remind me of home,

a many-headed arc. A clench of chestnut deer

hold an ark of findings, wrapped in fog I

shroud in. As carcassed as a liminal bird,

clotted as a jellyfish, I wear the earth

in a peach pit, I can hide it in its own discards.

Clouds shock in motion dazzle. With my

plastic spork & zebra key chain from

the grocery down the way, I take out

my crunchy chicken salad, stretch

on the plastic bag, under minotaur sky.

Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Wrongdoing Magazine, Twin Pies, Book of Matches, Drunk Monkeys and Corporeal Lit. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group, "Free Time," that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2