even the full moon isn’t
where I left it
Category: landscape
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
I’m that yokel
staring as vacantly as I can
at your one-way glass
