Look up at the sky,
The trees are ever reaching
Toward cloudy sky.
I'm going back to April,
going to watch Spring chew through winter,
watch the sun,
rake over the dead heaps of the thawing.
I may have to take a night train to get there.
April is way back behind the frozen tree line,
Sometimes I think I can hear it
digging through the darkness.
For a while
I'll watch the bouncing bleating lambs,
say goodbye forever to some of them,
go fishing for warm winds.
The last train to January will not wait,
I cannot be late,
or I'll be mulched into bonemeal,
and spread over this hard cold winter,
for the few remaining sparrows.
Somewhere West of where he was,
and East of where he’d been
The mountains called their distant cry,
a pleading heard within
The alpine air, the red-tailed hawk,
their spirits hail his name
To thence return, the past on fire
—his freedom to reclaim
(Chief Joseph Highway: September, 2021)
Mountains make poor receptacles
for dreams
Oceans are better at that
The elevation reminding of all
that’s forbidden
Primordial—the higher you climb
(Dreamsleep: December, 2019)
!
hell
above
the tree line
man digging in
implanting spikes
deep in your rock skin
chaining with egos ropes
the mountain fighting back
with ice pic wind and avalanche
sweeping ticks to the dark crevasse
man wants to steal your diamond crown
plant their skull and crossbone in your soul
your wish is to add another bone to the broach