Martin Balgach For Jack Myers On my way to Arkansas for work this job has me selling books to strangers and I’m reading you on the plane drunk in your canopy of hurt when I think of my wife and son back home where I left them in winter’s morning, single digits, everything frozen white… More

Too Much Breath

Martin Balgach In the fireplace Two logs burn serendipitously But I want another blanket They say the snow Will last until tomorrow Now and then A branch pops up like a soggy spring Shaking off the weight of white Given the circumstance of seasons Living like this is not so bad But take away the… More