Waking blind in a blur of snow,
into sky trembling like water in a storm,
to the radio telling news of fires
and smoke pouring through canyons,
to armies marching over a snowy field,
to weapons scattered across the hills,
to something scurrying over the roof,
to crows startling the gray air,
to my hands tingling as I work to reach you,
signaling through darkness with fingers of ice.
Steve Klepetar wanted to name his sons “Butch” and “Sundance,” but his wife wouldn’t let him.