jason molina

Flat muted boy of the woods, trailed off

behind wolves so well you knew every groove in the nick,

hid your marbles, toy guns, bled into forest colors, grew arms

leaves, every boy’s dream, all train song, delphinium,

lost every minor key, all your songs, most of Memphis

to the her, January now in the bunchgrass, bottle from

the first chord beyond the moon you loved so female-legged, shapely.