fallow

mountaintop field
feeding clouds

snowshoes

as old as I am
raw hide

if I can’t dance

it’s not my revolution
winter trees

the shock of recognition

ant gallery

Brush Mountain

the upward mobility
of water

now that it’s just my winter

mud dauber nests

ice-bound forest

the raven’s
circling croak

skinned alive

by a porcupine
sweet birch

hoarfrost

my breath freezing
to my beard

whale-shaped drifts

the weight
of my snowshoes

melting snow

for tea
time alone

below zero

converting my loneliness
to metric