Stevie Edwards: Against Ghosts
Come put your dusky coos to rest
in this orchard where the last apples cling
despite, no—to spite, the siren cold wind.
I call the dogs back, gone too far out
into the liminal: Wood lines
disappearing into lowering dark: Oh,
my Ithaca. These two rescues, the pit bull
chasing after the foxhound, bark
for the empty. I am trying fierce this year
to leave my dead alone. Dear ________,
you spit their eyes back animate or quit with it.
You hear me. I need
how this space has no echo.