Andrew Hanson is a writer and poet living in South Florida. His work has been featured in Clackamas Review, Voices de la Luna, Spectrum Literary Journal, and more.
The joy shimmied out by years of spreadsheets daydreams that rust into a retirement buried by the silver spade, flicked out of a deck slick like an afternoon sweat. How can a monthly invoice slipped from an envelope, read aloud like an incantation, memorized like a riddle, throw the sky to the earth?
A lesson in treading lightly sometimes for miles a trail where everything vanishes except the next rock: blue-green, heathered by moss, weathered by the same water that Heraclitus brooked. After each leap, critters loosen from the waterlogged oak, a feast for the creek bed, that dams the cool fluidity, loam-perturbed, lifted by the skin at the arch—