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	<title>endlessfields</title>
	<link>http://endlessfields.com</link>
	<description>poetry and other things</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Mon, 30 Apr 2012 14:34:34 +0000</lastBuildDate>
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	<language>en</language>
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	<item>
		<title>Single Pane</title>
		<description><![CDATA[The glare on the window catches my eye… &#38; I am awake. She&#8217;s left warmth that will not last like breath on a mirror. The repeating call of a mourning dove &#38; I am awake. I dreamt about clouds drowning the moon or my ancestor in the bottom of a clay pit. I dreamt she<a href="http://endlessfields.com/2012/04/30/single-pane/"> <br /><br /> (More)…</a>]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/04/30/single-pane/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Holstein</title>
		<description><![CDATA[We lined up like cattle Just one more pour counting the drops Swimming in rye like disturbed bats Pretty Lake defrosted early We all did we all drank Wide and deep the ping of a broken (empty) bottle It was early evening]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/04/12/holstein/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Flood</title>
		<description><![CDATA[The river was seeping through tall grass. A crow was eyeing nothing in particular. Leaves were turning into soil.  The smell hung like a yolk. I sat against a dying (dead) tree. I could tell because the bark came off like an old lover… It buried me there. Lichen grew thick.]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/27/flood/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Drywall</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I&#8217;ve been here before. This moment.  I turn and find the wall. I am cool gray bricks tired of holding the ceiling. A cavern of crucifix. My breath like settling foundations. Ragged and dirty.  So what if I am windowless. I prefer it. The suffocating air to dishonest light and you.]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/21/drywall/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>A Toy Box Made of Pine</title>
		<description><![CDATA[My brother is a box of broken toys. Not his toys, my toys – not toys at all, But a collection of wrecked memories, Forlorn in a box next to old bicycles. His footprints fill our father’s, Heavy, slim and always striding. Mine are wider, light... barely Headed in the other direction. An Osage Orange<a href="http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/19/a-toy-box-made-of-pine/"> <br /><br /> (More)…</a>]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/19/a-toy-box-made-of-pine/</link>
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	<item>
		<title>Brackish</title>
		<description><![CDATA[We walked by the river that night. A steelhead warned of our migration— our undoing in the upstream. Lonely beddings later in life… A gray fox yawned. Our steps echoed off dying willows and called back to everything. It was heaven. It was empty graves. The water calmed cooled the skin. Light lingered through branches<a href="http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/12/brackish/"> <br /><br /> (More)…</a>]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/12/brackish/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>G3</title>
		<description><![CDATA[They say there's a solar     storm today... Perhaps that is reason     enough to stop     the clocks Or forget the note     she scribbled     this morning. I can't help but think     of the magnets,     of the eyes.]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/08/g3/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Bishop Pine</title>
		<description><![CDATA[They stood doped swayed She slept below where the needles covered it all I quit that trail tired… I quit that song so overplayed and long I quit my last job I quit my first life I quit reading fiction I quit sleeping there I quit following stars I quit eating ribs I quit writing<a href="http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/06/bishop-pine/"> <br /><br /> (More)…</a>]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/06/bishop-pine/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>3/4 prose</title>
		<description><![CDATA[A kitchen table, more dust than words, and a cup of lukewarm coffee hints at what she was saying.  Outside the clouds are rambling.  A red-tailed floats alone as if he was speaking with the past.  I feel the late winter&#8217;s winds longing from the window and I can sympathize with this old wooden chair. <a href="http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/04/34-prose/"> <br /><br /> (More)…</a>]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/04/34-prose/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Alarka</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Like stones piled a hearth steel blade against her hip Naked ash and oak moan The old man smoked another some star quit blinking again Leaves rotted like organs Mist danced on the hillside Dogs barked at a black bear]]></description>
		<link>http://endlessfields.com/2012/03/04/alarka/</link>
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