Tag Archives: Annette Frost

Moon Bones at Sea

Moon bones worm through the dark waters. The sea at night. This channel is deep enough to draw the biggest fish. I see scales, but I imagine bones: slim, slipping through currents. If I could pick which to touch, and … Continue reading

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Burial Jars

Egg-shaped. Clay. Earth-groomed. Crackable. They cradle the slope of the curled body: arms fetal, coiled legs. They offer: nest, den, homecoming. Two can fit this way, each resigned to the bend of the other. After, it will take time to … Continue reading

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Walking the Bay at Conway

On the worn cliffside trail, we’ve come apart when we spot the eagle erect on a limb at the point. The bulk of its body is nimble, dark against the fog-smeared sky. Beneath us, cedar roots twist regally, their buckling … Continue reading

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