WA L L AC E, W H E RE GO D LIVE S I N SI LV E R By Michael Gray, Editors’ Choice Author
Say you found God here, stashed in mortar between cracked ice on frozen concrete steps below a punched-through sign filled with wind and falling snow. Or in ore chunks and antique tools and the old rail depot, its tracks consumed in road, that summons tourists to roam bordello rooms. Here is silver. Here it bleeds. More fish sicken, gills swelled, filling the Coeur d’Alene, and burn birds’ lungs with metal silt. You prefer another town, some other streets. 38