from Mist Nets


Droving to bananas
Dogs guarding the pack against hubcap
                              A butterfly house
You say Parakeets flew over
       Focusing correct
You say Life birds with Coca-Cola
       Rock chiseling
You say No stopping for ducks
Sleeping to water
Walking by river
                    A roadside hawk
You say I never got a good look
       The green hermit
Pisco sours
You say You just imagined it
                             The water grooves
You say To the mottle-cheeked
       Reed bundles under the cushions
             An ambient solitaire
You say That’s the one you call blood-red?
You say The last one was 873, female
You say The culture of being loud
             750 soles a month
       Hot spring steam


       A line of light
Mistaking endemic
Mistaking falling leaves for birds
              900 soles a month
                     Gold a no-go
Looking for river otters
                     Refusing to haggle
       The Andes striped
Votes mowed into mountains
You say Anyplace people can do it, birds can do it
You say The ground is so soft
       Stopping for a streak-fronted
                                     The cacti tangle an elegant nest
       Building when there’s money
                                     Yellow-flowered hillside
You say High mountain desert and a little wetland
You say Nobody wants to look at the bird I’m looking at?
              A harrowing dust cloud
              A what is it refrain
Brick piles baking
       Archaeological zones
Cloud stuff coming across the road
       Would have liked to stop for ruins
You say Did we see this already?
You say Puna grassland
You say This will be the last pass
You say Strong ladies
       Stalking the Andean ibis
You say It says something with rocks
                             Descent from high desert
You say All those pink things are begonias
       Moths flocking the dining room
You say Where’s the dodderall here?
       The dining room screened in
You say It was the same one already seen
You say Oven birds are you ready?
You say I like all the frogs
                             A huge moth distraction
You say That was the distant one?
You say That’s another E
You say Could maybe those two jays hang out?

stephanie-ampersandStephanie Anderson is the author of In the Key of Those Who Can No Longer Organize Their Environments (Horse Less Press) and five chapbooks, including the forthcoming Sentence, Signal, Stain (Greying Ghost) and LIGHTBOX (The New Megaphone). She edits Projective Industries and currently lives in either Chicago or Tokyo. Find more at