watersnake turning back
into an empty creek bed
does a broom learn
to love the taste of dust
the air is grimy with boreal
ghosts of trees
the lurid sunrise
somehow lasts all day
no-see-ums become visible
wandering in circles
under the towering hair-
trees on my skin
i itch to get going
mountains are beginning to vanish
this haze may have come all the way
from the ming dynasty
beech leaves are losing their green
to the new black
swifts wheel high overhead
the world’s their chimney
a greyhound bus gives birth
to a litter of smokers