Wisconsin

By Nate Klug

By new names
and then no names
at all, their laws
will reach your land,

Lorine, to feed
on your much loved
marshy spaces
whose occasional faces

discern a stranger
from far off
but like to take
a break from well

or welding just
to talk. We can-
not extricate
a place from those

it’s made of, the sounds
it makes. But now
from Blackhawk
Island to Madison

to Washington,
geologies
thin; more things
sound or work

the same. Their laws
will reach your land,
Lorine, by new names
then no names at all.

This Poem Features In: