below zero

converting my loneliness
to metric

fisher tracks

the swaying shadows
of trees

losing parts of words

rodent teeth find
something to gnaw

a small bird’s shadow
crossing the snow

the afterlife
of ghost plants

that photo-negative sun
when I close my eyes

my caravan
of one

for hours the sky
unlined

in January
only crows crow

I lost my sense of smell for just two days. When it came back, the first odor I noticed was soil.

of running away
white-tailed deer