foggy woods

the sassafras follows a crooked route to the sky

a tree too tall to stay

shadows of six-inch weeds stripe the stump

the dark sky dissolves into snowflakes

in dry meadow grasses the old hayrake

just half a mile away already looks blue

kernels of sun on the bare steel

only a slight shimmy in the ferns’ reflections

I want to pick out all the hairs

Taken from the top of the mountain where I live (obviously not a towering peak).

A display box had been set on end, and when the late afternoon sun passed through it, it left this … More