a life sentence for its strip of land. But sometimes it glows, livid as a scar.
Category: landscape
boulder field in snow
its only other crop
besides lichen
snow squall
the dog stops tugging
on the leash
dead milk cow
transported to the mountaintop
food for eagles
I’m that yokel
staring as vacantly as I can
at your one-way glass
fields already green
between this ridge and the next
still brown, still blue
way out on the ice
some small dead thing
with its attendant crow
