‘Tunnel Trees,’
Caitlin Schwerin
Laura Hineisen

Because there is a lost chicken in the yard

black and strutting, not of this place
but a fenced-in world where kernels
scatter from a mother’s palm,

clocks keep time to roosters,
and dandelions cluck between blades
of delicious Kentucky Blue,

I consider my steps with care,
unwilling to crunch soles on stone.