shouts flinging barking flying all kinds
all kinds of motion for a moment
then my white curls rise so much space
combed by frigid breezes but the view—
all this green I tromped and would have
chewed in a little while all my
sisters and brothers standing close
and those two watching and watching
and I only understood why today
as these little hooves bounded up
but not in play toward the mountain
winged away but there was a pull
a gentle red trickle gave me
some warmth in a blue made of cries
Tag: green
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in an age when close and distant cloud
I make what you won’t want to eat and wait
for the snow scrape and salt that wakes us too
early or too late little mountains pen
in sugared cars I try to lift this snowwith homemade rhythm into clouds
like berries almost black but how
long do I have to long for long-lasting
mud and birds who stay a bit and fly backa breath that leaves green leaves to shake
so let’s finish the crackers and
call them cookies we can watch amovie through the neighbor’s window
just balance on this pile of skulls
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what would it sound like
to walk out on the soundgulls chase
gulls for a bitthat sound
breathing
needlesso I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burstwhat thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf orbut what would it sound like
opening my mouth the waythe white heron hides its neck
am I too latedo I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice
other animals 