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

American bittersweet

the great poet’s death
trending on Twitter

mountain gorge

we climb to gaze at the stream’s
effortless descent