to what leaves
American beech
fresh snow
a vole’s
wandering hill
crow mimicking
a crow hunter’s
crow call
New Year’s Eve
more than ordinary
stir fry
mountain
without peaks
keep going
moon on ice
moon on ice
that emphatic
WHO-all
no visitors
to track up my snow
mourning dove wings
lost
idiolect are you
my mutter
snowfall
imagine being buried
in a blank page
January
the shrinking circle
of my needs
distant gunshots
the new tattoo
has turned scaly
growing needles
in an icy fog—
perjury charges
