with Michael Dumanis
IN THE WAKE OF FALLEN MOUNTAINS
Bond,
Cannon, Lafayette,
Bondcliff, Moat,
Lincoln, Owl's Head,
Flume,
Carrigain,
Lethe, Osseo,
Tri-Pyramid,
Passaconaway,
Scar Ridge,
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Fertile evergreens, (plant names, florae, .) and blindingly thick.
[things to do and done:]
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O, requiem.
No more subject matter for Thomas Cole,
Frederic Church,
Thomas Moran,
Alfred Bierstadt
&c.,
if they ever came to these parts at all.
Daily the mirror commissions me when it gets the chance.
Tidal lines fanning from my eyes,
skin complexion like a moving field of wheat,
sturdy hue of tawn dotted
with the small stamens of wheat-bulbs.
So many landscapes
besides mountains.
*
Learn to forget them
and start tilling your face
for a sunflower patch
*
The world is now breathing full with its emptiness
broadened horizons, clearer sightlines.
Up in the once, there. Look, Dogen.
He and I sip coffee outside a tent and scan the not-there.
Do not travel far to other dusty lands, forsaking your own sitting place;
if you cannot find truth where you are you are fucked
cliffrock, granite, metasiltstones, phyllite, gabbro,
Names so full yet empty of truth.
Rock is slick and a killing instrument.
*
The walk to her home in my sleep, and every night.
The way is empty, yet use will not drain it.
So each night, the empty dreams fill me
and I continue walking, entering the dust.
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