What should be mostly silenceis too loud.Everyone throws stones into the river.Everyone wants to catch the birds.Everyone shoots the fish.
Meanwhile, behind them,a sycamore swallows the sun.One sparrow folds all darkness in its wings.A worm turns as surely as historyin the intricate gut of a hawk. [End Page 147]
Richard Hague's prose has appeared in his collections Milltown Natural: Essays & Stories From a Life; Learning How: Stories, Yarns, & Tales; and Lives of the Poem: Community & Connection in a Writing Life, as well as in Creative Nonfiction, Appalachian Journal, Now & Then, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, and several anthologies. He received the 2012 Weatherford Award in Poetry. He lives, writes, and operates a small urban farm in Cincinnati.