“This autumn when trees bolt, dark with the fires
Of starlight, he’ll curl among their roots,
Wanting nothing but the slow burn of matter
On which he fastens like a small, brown flame.’’
— From “The Chipmunk in My Yard,’’ by Robert Gibb
“This autumn when trees bolt, dark with the fires
Of starlight, he’ll curl among their roots,
Wanting nothing but the slow burn of matter
On which he fastens like a small, brown flame.’’
— From “The Chipmunk in My Yard,’’ by Robert Gibb