Ian Finch



Tore up the fruit
and found tiny stones.

Tore up the fruit tree
and underneath were stones.

Tore out those stones
and underneath—more stones.

But I was startled when
the knots in the limbs

resting in the drying fire
cracked open like stones.


The Astrophysicist

their pull alone
affords you this moment

in terms of density
imagine a truck
pressed into a thimble

flares big enough
to trip your breakers
for good

consider the pinpricks
of sugar that vanish
into the funneling

a cubic inch of white dwarf
outweighs your chances

have another bowl
of chicken and stars



Ian Finch is a poet from Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, in Beaver County, near the Beaver River.