all the trees graffitied
with fresh snow
Category: landscape
Four months away
even the full moon isn’t
where I left it
Bronze Age
Migratory as an eel, unstable as molten metal wavering between stone and water, I dreamed myself adrift in a forest of the dead, one more leaf returned to the forge of life, green blade that does not crumble, however fallen, in any autumn that we know.
A road is a blankness,
a life sentence for its strip of land. But sometimes it glows, livid as a scar.
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
