an ancient beach

on the sandstone ridge we still stoop for baubles

goldenrod stalks

where bees hummed in August sparkles on the snow

foggy woods

the sassafras follows a crooked route to the sky

a tree too tall to stay

shadows of six-inch weeds stripe the stump

in the spotlight’s glare

the dark sky dissolves into snowflakes

wheel half-submerged

in dry meadow grasses the old hayrake

bare quarry rock

just half a mile away already looks blue

slow-moving stream

only a slight shimmy in the ferns’ reflections

shining viscera

I want to pick out all the hairs

old barn

so many places for light to leak in

bubbles

frozen into ice— ephemeral pond