They were wrong, here is there. The tree that fell overnight still shimmers with flailing roots. Findings, openings, bones that can be cleared from the shale, time is a hawk & I’m a hawk & even our flights are not so elegant. It’s all bodies, awkwardly falling into each other. Think. Think. Crash. —About Darren C. Demaree— My poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including Hotel Amerika, Diode, North American Review, New …