In times of trouble I go back to the land.
Unlock the snow crystals’ color
A closed socket made of flint
Illuminates Seward Pennsylvania
Beach ridges disappear like walls
Of a melting igloo as embankments
Keep permafrost frozen under
Roadways in the wake of black ashen
Trails. Lights grew dim on a string
Where snow settles. I hold my mirror
Up to look for dust moons which
Grew dim from the blue/purple haze
Touch the fifth dimension, drink the
Soundwaves of throat singing.
Thread the gutted fish. Weave the innards back.