"Levering's writing . . . abounds in physical details, and he uses them like Thoreau, as stepping stones to the spiritual life . . . . His poetic vision remains with us long after we have put down Horsetail." — Victor Contoski

The autumn suns of marigolds
lining the patio
have faded toward death
before they catch the teeth
of my rake
springing their seeds

I tramp the leaves I have heaped
on the compost
with the weight of decades
of snowfalls
The damp imprints of their fine veins
cling to the flagstone like fossils