dog sniffing

past the trailing arbutus—
coyote scat

Internal division is in your best interests

if it means being always prepared for a change in the wind.

throbbing

a hundred ways at once—
wood frog party

spring equinox

the tracks of the wind
have yet to melt

A witch hazel growing beside the road

improvises a slow ode to travel.

Still life with landscape.

Self-portrait as nude.
Illuminated spreadsheet.
Frozen watercolor.

The white dwarf’s embrace of its black hole partner is so close,

it sends headline writers into hyperdrive. To some, the black hole is predatory; to others, the star is insane. But what if it’s love?

On this day of small storms,

that GIF of the sun hurtling through space and the spiraling tracks of its planets.

The music entered me.

But it wasn’t until I got up to dance that I entered the music.

This coiled resistance may become a spring—

the first arabesque of a new wild.

mountainside

echoing with tundra swans
a dead deer

A small box of leftover parts

from all the broken things I tried to fix.