Even mountains disappear in cloud.
Let’s put on our boots.
Where snow isn’t
heaped up maple leaves shoulder on.
On the orange carpet, a dead mouse,
white legs and tail, the mouth open,
whiskers placed just so.
Who knew? What else lives in this boulder field?
Big as a tank, the granite is cracked in half:
–lichen, water, frost and sixty thousand years.
Stable, the kind of friend I like;
When Zephyrus decided to bother everyone with his sweet breath,
he practiced here first.
Is this Tuesday or Wednesday?
Unleashed from its moorings,
a great consignment of golden light
sidles onto the giant captain’s face.
Roads, pavement, buses and our two feet:
partners in the pile of the flimsy.