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Dad Capsule

by: Peter Milne Greiner

  Such curated remains

as the ring you wore to sleep in Emily Dickinson’s back

    yard in 1973, a pewter woman’s face

that reminds me of Converge now;

      as weird American currency and notes

      toward a novel, The Loom of Descent, about greedy, furtive sons—

    its lush psychic backdrop a

      grimoire of our average action

    One out of two trustees agree they’re worth saving

I too reap a decade’s scant scaffold of myths

  Ceremonial dog burial, half hour hike, day trip to the caves

      Our plain eon takes form