Cold air scratching my lungs
bare branches clawing the
red cloud sky.
To fall here so far
from anyone
I would be dead before
the low sun had buried
itself beneath the scrub
trees of the distant hedgerow.
Drifts shelter tilting stones
holding them against the wind
time freezing in this white
openness
distance and time above me
like the sun-dogs that breathe in
the steam of my breath.
When I […]
for Thich Nhat Hanh
Dimly we know the mystery in the deadfall that supports us: […]
early sun limnsthe plate rail a kitchenreduced to grit & shambles butcher block table wallpaper slumped about its knees
light here reveals only absence
teasel in the bones ofthe victory garden thrustingbarrel staves […]
November we descendfrom permafrost northcamp on the ice
fire on a bierabove the riverpoplar logs green and sappysnow pitted fromthe flankers’ fall
all day we followthe trucks gone before chancing rotten ice for tea […]
creek ducks the boundary fenceleaves it slackjawed & danglingspring the cattle
wallow in runoff mudplay their spines along the wire
up the coulee ironstone peters to cactuswild lupine
the onions are foundby scent biteof trodden leaves bulbs unearthed like molars crepuscular canyon light
wild […]
