foggy solstice

the “cosmic” flavor of the cloud
from her vape

Christmas morning

all the trees graffitied
with fresh snow

even the full moon isn’t
where I left it

I dreamed myself adrift in a forest of the dead.

a life sentence for its strip of land. But sometimes it glows, livid as a scar.

its only other crop
besides lichen

snow squall
the dog stops tugging
on the leash

transported to the mountaintop food for eagles

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

between this ridge and the next still brown, still blue

some small dead thing with its attendant crow

meltwater shimmers atop the ice