showing me where to dig
Dad’s grave
sapless trees
I’m already passing
that distant lake
deserted trail
dead leaves rising up
to dance
bright graffiti
through the autumn hills
this freight
wilderness peak
checking my phone
for a signal
leaves falling
through low sun
a yellow-shafted flicker
woodbine
gone to seed
a traveler’s joy
shapes in the clouds
a lone kayaker raising her phone
boulder field
letting the wind help
fold my map
bare sandstone
in my earliest memories
you were granite
frost on the windshield
blank spaces on the map
returning
to my upstairs bedroom
my own body heat
