by William Higgins
The line between
nature and soul
It’s a wild hedgerow that splits cool dirt,
a tree through the window or the river that arches
like a spine
through the campus.
Mold runs across
crown moulding in the French room and mildew fills the air.
A bookshop grows a block long beneath the earth like a
The line between nature
and soul isn’t mani-
-cured, and denizens mine along that line. With a splayed compass
on a duster or bong shaped like a snake. I walk back
from night class between the creek and the green and am afraid
of a pair of sewed-on devil horns moving out from
behind the heavy elms.