the tracks of the wind
have yet to melt
Category: forest
A witch hazel growing beside the road
improvises a slow ode to travel.
Still life with landscape.
Self-portrait as nude.
Illuminated spreadsheet.
Frozen watercolor.
The white dwarf’s embrace of its black hole partner is so close,
it sends headline writers into hyperdrive. To some, the black hole is predatory; to others, the star is insane. But what if it’s love?
On this day of small storms,
that GIF of the sun hurtling through space and the spiraling tracks of its planets.
The music entered me.
But it wasn’t until I got up to dance that I entered the music.
mountainside
echoing with tundra swans
a dead deer
A small box of leftover parts
from all the broken things I tried to fix.
In every quest narrative, it’s the very beginning that I like—
before the first adversaries appear, when the path is still a magic carpet and has yet to reveal its serpentine coils.
quartzite
on a warm winter day
the absence of bees
It was only when I switched to unlined paper
that the poems began to come without being called.
Just by living and pushing back against the world
we build our memorials, our rings of stone.
