the pristine faces
of artist’s conks
Category: forest
mushroomier now
the chainsawed end of a hemlock
among acorns
taking root
the retriever’s snout
burial tree
my 100,000 miles of veins
high winds
a falling branch crashes
my party of one
this must be the place
the black-throated green warbler
is whispering
more dead children
I go for a walk in rain
that should be snow
