Winnower. Aaron Brown

      over the horizon, threatening to spill its

      entrails upon the leaves outside my door.

      The yard would erode, the bricks disintegrate

      in a wash of sand and rain—a deluge

      that could not drown the whir of the blender,

      the scoop of spoons in the sugar jar.

      Brokentree

      Where all who wanted rest would come,

      the once-mighty haraza tree lies shattered.

      By the shores of the dry river,

      it rose to a lofty height