has depths

                         bladetips shine

            out of shadow dim root

 

sun falling so low down

nab grass                      casts

shadows on itself

 

creaking

            wood                           like

birds                             at a distance    then

falling

 

 

white on the eastsides

January

 

January

 

blades of the windmill

shadow down the pole

 

sun thru cows’ ears’ hairs

halo and

translucence through

skin                             

                                                                                                           

 

looking for gaps and styles

not a pathway but a place

where the wall’s come down

 

corner turns from

wind icy ground

to

           

meltwater streambed

footpath animalpath

shooting a

rhythm

 

down

to calm