we forget after a while that they aren’t the horizon, that their trees don’t go on forever, that the sky is wider than we can know.
lost in the woods
the only trail signs
are in Bear
winter wonderland
the dog digs up a pile
of frozen guts
thirsty dog
the pond’s ice creaks
under her weight
forsythia
blooming in December
so much for kigo
old jawbones
lying at right angles—
my camera is a phone
mountain road
the forest within a forest
of porcupine quills
ancestral masks
the eyes go back
to being shadows
I dreamed the angel of death was a bland functionary
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
In a dream, I extricate myself from your embrace
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
I dream I’m possessed by a demon who gives me seizures.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
it’s not winter
it’s white springtime
#fakenews
