fresh paint

a butterfly lands on the ladder to have a taste

luna moth

its enormous antennae attract a harvestman

gracile stalks bending under the weight of seeds

staring as vacantly as I can at your one-way glass

acts like it doesn’t even know the shadowy leaves

I wouldn’t have hesitated to step on the real thing

blossoms lost to the heat in just four days

springing through an old fern leaf art deco stamens

each avoiding the others’ hot, foul breath

the forest floor belongs to the quick bright comma

trees drag the rippled snow with their nets

even better on the drifts than my snowshoes