up slope

on all fours
the growl in my chest

sitting

for a spell
sand stone

or apprehensive
old black birch

imagine being buried
in a blank page

we climb to gaze at the stream’s
effortless descent

Self-portrait as nude.
Illuminated spreadsheet.
Frozen watercolor.

on a warm winter day
the absence of bees

not because of its height in absolute terms but because of its distance. It stands apart—but also in the way. Its roots go deep.

its only other crop
besides lichen