"We are a vow to an empty field, the field's dropseed dropping, the field hurt from sun, the millstream stitching the evenings one to the next, the wheel turning with it to open every seam."
"This mill is empty, its windows long since sealed for the last time, hands ash that wrapped around these boards. I have been counting the birds left in the rafters..."
"This song of fragments opens, falters. I know of nails and sandpaper, saws and rivets; still, the pine boards keep splitting, the wheel comes apart."
"How the water shatters. Love, I've been meaning to tell you about the birds in the field beyond our house, how they swell and fray and settle as I pass..."
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