Braided Creek. Jim Harrison

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      without crushing the ashes.

      Way out in the local wilderness

      the only human tracks are mine, left foot

      pigeon-toed, aimless.

      Trust snow to keep a secret.

      Old white soup bowl

      chipped like a tooth,

      one of us is always empty.

      I used to have time by the ass

      but now I share it in common

      and it’s going away.

      These legs

      are wearing out.

      Uphill, downhill.

      They’ll love

      their flat earth rest.

      Old centipede

      can’t keep himself

      from leaving.

      My dog girlfriend Rose was lost

      for three endless days and nights

      during which I uncontrollably sobbed.

      Fear is a swallow

      in a boarded-up warehouse,

      seeking a window out.

      The brown stumps

      of my old teeth

      don’t send up shoots

      in spring.

      In New York

      on a wet

      and bitter street

      I heard a crow from home.

      Mouse nest in the toe of my boot,

      have I been gone that long?

      I haven’t forgotten

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