Late Fall

Late Fall Against the green, a flash of white like lightning, or a floater. The dogs leap after hare in winter wear a breath between hemlocks, mossy squirrel cone scatter, the mushroomed pale faerie ring. A whiff of magic lingers…
Late Fall Against the green, a flash of white like lightning, or a floater. The dogs leap after hare in winter wear a breath between hemlocks, mossy squirrel cone scatter, the mushroomed pale faerie ring. A whiff of magic lingers…
Regaled On the day the moose stopped morning traffic bent under spreading tines and pheromones the dog rolled in a urine-scented wallow. Later, when the clear night’s frost began to soften, freeing the aven’s curl to mark the slanted light,…
Tracks The hardest day with the cadaver wasn’t bisecting eyes, unpeeling genitals, or sawing through skull to the muted corrugated brain within, but dissecting hands. Last night I dreamt of tendon-strung puppets heavily-lined palms, nails chewed to the quick each cut between hands…
Crescent Moon Wolves sang an evening song when the moon was a slender saffron slip not cinema-full over popping buttons and silvered claws but a scissored cut-out in jack-o-lantern glow its hue a match for ripe gooseberry soft skin of…
When Trees Fall Yes of course we make a sound. All of us herehearingwhen you do not. Just this morning (as you slept) every stone spoke in a vibratory roar so loud, the sea responded in kind. Spruce, bark-beetled and…
Treasure Twice now the younger dog has brought home bony bits of dried, twisted skin, one side pale-rough, the other dense with soft brown fur so like her own. I too have nosed some treasure out of forest duff, like…
Origins Black capped shrieks tear the sky into sharp angles winging vivid pale across blue, catching the midnight sun’s horizon light in scarlet blades. There are none fiercer near nests, except every mother. It’s unwise to generalize about arctic terns…
Skipping Stone Sun When the bears emerge, blinking, filling their risen loaf lungs with bracing blue sky the sun is already high, skipped across seas of feathered cloud crests like a thin stone thrown, no longer low-angled but flicked-winged and…
Wolf’s Track The steady staple shrew tracks ended in owl wing hush, a loss so singular I mourned. Last night, the long late winter sun stained the mudflats frozen rose, the clear sky persimmon. Even the mountains blushed. Today, fresh…
Winter Snakes arrive tight-coiling the night like sky sinews grounded, dark-wrapping the trees with glass-shard scales and the mountains, brilliant in skin-shed waves of translucent drape send slides wind-lit, ashen and thunderous, curling sea-soft to mirror pale-stars in spell-blanket light,…