swallowed by forest
horned moon
Category: forest
purple
stripes on trees
nothing’s private
as for me
the mossy side
of the trunk
bubbles
frozen under the ice
or current resident
clinging
to what leaves
American beech
fresh snow
a vole’s
wandering hill
crow mimicking
a crow hunter’s
crow call
mountain
without peaks
keep going
snowfall
imagine being buried
in a blank page
distant gunshots
the new tattoo
has turned scaly
growing needles
in an icy fog—
perjury charges
out before dawn
the perfect fit of foot
to footprint
