for Frank Stanford
By Dalton Day


On the night you left
we had a dream about wolves again

They bit into the tires of cars
drug flowers through the streets
while we watched from our kitchens

Our knives vibrated in drawers

We couldn’t decide whether the dream
was good or bad


When we miss you we drive up
and down the interstate
begging smoke to claw from the engine

The stars swarm like flies to milk

As we head home we pretend not to notice
the paw prints in the dirt

We leave the porch light on
We look down the empty road you walked
We keep our decisions to ourselves

The moon keeps an eye on our throats

Dalton Day is very concerned about the death of the sun. He drinks a lot of chocolate milk. He loves drag queens. He cannot play the banjo. His work has appeared in Foxing Quarterly, The Legendary, and decomP, among others. His first chapbook, Supernova Factory, was released in May 2013 by On the Cusp Press.