it was easy for us then
like winter, we arrived
ripe as stars
 
high above the bitterroot
we collected random things
chased birds
 
walked into the
hot mouth of august
and found your pretty bones
 
then, on long afternoons
we took our whiskey, hard
like they do in the west
 
 
———-
Ag Synclair publishes The Montucky Review and edits poetry for The Bookends Review. Widely published in the small presses, he manages to fly under the radar. Deftly.

Photography by William J. Stribling.