day breaks
into increments of gold
a falling leaf flits back and forth
like a doomed moth
acorns gestate
in the throat pouch of a jay
the breeze is spicy with rot
i take deep lungfuls
nuclear armageddon
is trending on twitter
the bluestone road
seduces me again
*
each of my feet aches
in its own way
the left to take wing
the right to take root
they take me where hemlocks
pry open the rocks
and vultures drift past
without flapping
a section of trail famous
for being hard on boots
it is difficult says the guidebook
to get any rhythm going
as you step from rock
to rock
but this is the music
i grew up with
a grouse cups his wings and drums
on the skin of the air
*
distant booms
a shooting range perhaps
the sun goes in but
the yellow keeps glowing
chickadees announce my presence
in unflattering terms
to a mixed flock feeding
on mountain ash berries
a rock shifts under me
i shift with it
at a trail intersection someone
has dug a hole in the rocks
revealing the water table
its serving of birch leaves
farther along the hemlock
burnt from below
by an untended camp fire
that turned roots to charcoal
two years later it’s dead
but for one last limb
stripped down to the skeleton
for a sky burial
*
descending the flank of the ridge
i find a proper spring
yellow coral mushrooms
extend crossed fingers
the mountain can punish
moments of inattention
but i am a bad student
i walk in two places at once
a place of wings
and a place of roots
that night the moon flies
through prismatic clouds
at its brightest
and most manic
stained by the dark
beds of seas