For giants who once wandered the earth,

their bones are sure elusive.

Yes, the snow may be deep,

the sand too quick,

the volcano about to erupt,

but you’d think their brilliant remains

would declare themselves like beacons.

Not so, once again to the map I go,

so scribbled and crossed out it’s barely legible.

I hear the doctor snort, and casually he hands me the real map

and removes my brain scan from my grasp.


Sprouted (draft)

Up, up.

Green shoots,

eager brown boots.

A steep climb

for a little crime:

coins here, coins there,

as jumpy as an adult hare.

For a good cause;

give yourself pause.

The goose’s egg,

easily as big as your head,

a lilting harp

that never plays sharp.

Snatch them up quick!

Ears open, never miss a trick.

Down Down,

nearing the ground.

Run, lightning feet

through the patch of beet.

Safe for a while,

the end of the trial…


Giant fists waiting to pound.