The quarter-inch chain is wrapped around the spruce
like a Saxon’s braiding, woven on a forearm.
He throws the last length over logs hemmed in
the trailer’s iron posts which now lean out
under the weight and pitch of so much timber.
With hands caked now in pitch and fragrant sawdust,
he hooks both ends of the chain to the come-along
and pulls the lever three times with his boot
braced on the tire, locking down the gears
inside the ratchet’s oily, heavy clicks now tight
as coiled desire holding fast
to what it never wishes to let past.
In Praise of Translation
The circumstances of my life have been such that I have moved, since adolescence, in a borderland…
Artful Faith (ft. Stephen Auth)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Stephen Auth joins…
Work Is for the Worker
In these early days of his pontificate, Pope Leo XIV has made one thing clear: The responsible…