our mountain of lost hemlocks

speaking in moss

Appalachian spring

the pale green sugar
maples’ sun

Dutchman’s breeches

trembling in the breeze
of passing trucks

unfinished

with its commitments
living stump

pole timber

going on and on
about class

all that effort

to pose as a corpse
wake-robins

spring cleaning

in the wilderness
of a broom

shack

in the forest
the footfalls of moss

sunset

filling my mug
spring peepers

climbing the mountain

a new cloud
almost in bloom

April wood turtle

seeking shade
within

hepaticas

the mountain’s timeless
spring fashions