getting high

all the green feathers
of fern and moss

foggy solstice

the “cosmic” flavor of the cloud
from her vape

dying old-growth

the pristine faces
of artist’s conks

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

another year gone

the traditional sauerkraut
salty as tears

Christmas morning

all the trees graffitied
with fresh snow

lost in the woods

the only trail signs
are in Bear