Morning shadows of blue

stretch through

and cast themselves


onto crystal powder

the kind that’s ready to be marked

like a stack of term papers

or virgin skin looking for


Dry crunch and wafts of silk

sifted and dumped

over days and nights

hunger for the hand

of the artist to leave a


Dogs track and sniff

like a four-legged ping

and a three-toed,

blind and wasting deer

hobbles from her rest in


Across the pond and over the deck

along the garden and under the arch

past the woodshed and up the trail

there’s racoon, coyote and the three-toed deer

with the cat in hot


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