Monday, February 15, 2021

white birch
hidden among the pine--
mistaken for ghosts
thoughtless
a field mouse tests the air--
Buddha's seat
 

Monday, February 8, 2021

 Every time we'd drive into the Res, my little radio with the broken antenna would pick up the station from Agency Village. As we drew nearer, the sound of the Drum would grow stronger, deer lining the road, with the moon in every eye.

the eagle worries
bones of an old kill--
Indian summer