Night slips down
around the white gash
burnt across the night.
The morning news arrives
in its usual way with bills
and envelopes and glassine windows.
How does anyone, too tired to refuse
the dead, turn from the dark border
their words found?
Tim Snyder, originally from Rochester, New York, lives with his wife in a small house on a narrow road with a dog and six cats in Northwestern Ohio. He divvies up his time working on his house, teaching composition, and interpreting for Deaf folks in his adoptive home state. He has published his poetry in journals such as The Poet’s Billow, Heartwood Literary Magazine, and Albatross.