Benjamin Dombroski

Strange to see the deer at this hour, grazing in midday heat on the grasses that fringe the interstate. Three together, where flecks of sunlight on chickweed and Dallis grass break up the heavier shadows of pines.All are small, one still with spots. A mother and her fawns, if I had to guess. She alert, …

In turns, the sky that evening was worked nickel, brushed tin, then the color of a heron’s wing reflected in the waters she hunted.In full dark, the snow began to fall again, and quietly in the distance, as ifto concede its thin claim on being, the city faded into night above the river.We were told …