Poems by Robert Rinehart

spadefuls, chopped soil,
moist, splitting the fat
worm. halves fallen away,
wriggling, claiming darkness
of earth. as trees
break clay, so machines
scab worms,
microbes sift:
detail workers. having dug
beneath the fence,
we become homeless.

your breath, sweet,
mulchy. sparkly, glissading,
natural, pure white, dextrous
fresh as cocaine. trees as
soldiers, softening
the air. when asleep,
your movements sifted
as salt pours
into a cellar, swift,
precise, no waste.

those three nights, remember?
nights of unrest, sticks for
guns, & holsters, blistery
in the cold. beneath
fallen firs, we bought
sleep for duty, as,
camouflaged white
within the snow, our
instants of safety,
noisily imagining a simple
apple’s crunch, may give
us away.

our fears, racing
hearts, like flushed
pheasants breaking
cover, skating
into woods’ depths,
fleeing across the powder,
escaping capture, grave
faces charmed,
two halves come
together, our parts
forming a whole.