Further on, west of the city, suburban houses appear all slick and pretty as polished pain, some of them transmitting false alarms to uncaring cops, some of them serving as highly mortgaged coffins for lives deceased at the roots. A flock of Canada geese flies overhead, honking whenever honks are needed. One goose veers away on its own to the left. Another splits right. A philosopher might see three divergent realities coming into being above.
Hunters say blam.
Christmas Awakening To a Guest Reading by Paul Meier From the mantel, stockings packed with Christmas tinyness and sweets dimly hang at 3 a.m. Cold wind outside shakes and snaps the house. The dog is asleep on the couch. This artificial tree, lights off, points second-floorward with wrapped bounty beautifully beneath it, testimony that goods are good and glitter is better. The dog sighs and turns over.