a linked-verse sequence

Roundtop Mountain
on my first visit since fall
the color in the rocks

greenbriar winding
wending wounding

given away
by the silence of its wings
barred owl

the sound of a plane
swallowed up by blue

cool spring sun
a wolf spider rustling
after its shadow

how is it I can’t hear
the moss whispering

mountain laurel
still thick up here
its high sheen

without scenic vistas
no other visitors

black birch bark
peeled back on the sunny side
too warm for a coat

that circling vulture
must mark the summit

round-topped mountain
how slow the realization
this is it

at trail’s end a stick
stuck in a cairn

steep descent
the accelerating beats
of a ruffed grouse

a cabin named Summit
at the foot of the hill

bird house
with a phoebe nest on top
nobody’s home

coltsfoot beside the spring
glued to the sun

wood frog eggs
Roundtop in all its glory

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