Tramp

Tramp. Poems like cockleburs caught in old woolen socks after long days of wandering. Poems hard and spare as seeds, with little crannies and hooks that might catch in a reader's mind and be carried away. Lost fathers, strong mothers, beautiful daughters, loving wives. Hawks and gophers. Something thrumming in the world, through tree and granite, some pulse that can't be stilled. Wounded students, wounded teachers. These are poems of a scrappy survivor, a hearty mutt, wary of making much noise, explaining nothing, offering no program or compelling vision, at rest, at home.