Words reach
but cannot find
the distance,
her voice
clean with answers
as if speaking
to a Sears repairman.
How can summer
apples know
winter wind
in December hollows,
wisp of snow
dancing the line
of crackling
junctures.
Cold, a lighted
phone booth,
naked in the rain.
Trent Busch grew up in rural West Virginia and now lives Georgia where he builds furniture: coffee tables, night tables, chests of drawers, and other items from such woods as oak, walnut, cherry, and maple in his workshop. His poems have appeared in The Best American Poetry, Poetry, The Nation, Threepenny Review, and several others.
