autumn pond

a bottomless blue
six inches deep

Mountain stream: haiku or tanka?

mountain stream talking to myself

pitcher plants

the old logging railroad’s
boggy bed

cable footbridge

the autumn river’s
unhurried flow

In the sun’s house

we saw for the first time what a complete absence of nuance would look like. How irresistible it would be.

insomniac eyelids on strike for overtime

lakeshore reflections

the book
I forgot

coffin-shaped spring

the plucked banjo string
of a tanager

watching

the live stream
lonesome hollow

finding where the night goes

cave water

The idea of a Primal

Some thoughts toward a rite of spring.

trail maps

the easy chair’s
mountain

bubbles

frozen under the ice
or current resident