Trevor Nelson

Editor back-issues, poetry

The Friction of Leaves I imagine my aunt cradled the wedge of wood like an unborn infant, her palms weighing the potential. Her fingers, slivered by Braille, skimmed the timber’s lineage before rewriting it in a pile of shavings spun into Fibonacci spirals:   a face born from a branch. Twenty years later, the dust twisting from my truck’s tires…

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