the great poet’s death
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Tag: trees
mountain gorge
we climb to gaze at the stream’s
effortless descent
dying old-growth
the pristine faces
of artist’s conks
mushroomier now
the chainsawed end of a hemlock
among acorns
taking root
the retriever’s snout
burial tree
my 100,000 miles of veins
high winds
a falling branch crashes
my party of one
The sun is different here—
distant, keeps odd hours. A foreigner, regarded with a mixture of bemused tolerance and mistrust.
more dead children
I go for a walk in rain
that should be snow
The tree caught in a tree cannot be untreed except by rot.
This is a proverb from some far-away land where the Peter principle does not apply, and only the least competent are entrusted with the most important jobs.
Christmas morning
all the trees graffitied
with fresh snow
Mountains so long and low
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.
