Grain A tsunami of golden grain overwhelms me, spilling my heart across rolling green hills. Why did it take so many years to see how easily I can feed the land with myself? Bury me as a lonesome tree in the bowl of possibility. Bury me so that the bluest skies are clenched in the teeth of the tallest grasses. Bury me under every swelling tongue. The grain scratches its way skyward, filling the window of my body. Nothing seems to stop it. Dane Hamann Dane Hamann works as an editor for a textbook publisher in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University and later served as the poetry editor of TriQuarterly for over five years. His chapbook Q&A was published by Sutra Press and his micro-chapbooks have been included in multiple Ghost City Press Summer Series. His poetry collection, A Thistle Stuck in the Throat of the Sun, was recently published by Kelsay Books.
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July 2025
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