Amid kale and scots pine
Her footprint, broken
Cracked in half.
Her narrow shoe, left
By the shore of the lake
Worn, torn, holding
A puddle of regret

The fires come down through the foothills
from the mountain snow, looking to consume
eradicated trees, blasted heath. The clouds
won’t help, nor stop them, just yet

that old lane leads down
between the sheepfolds
out of town. I am but one drop, and
the sea seems deeper than the sky

spraypainted graffiti grass blades
slice open eggs and bloody feathers
the smug lawn decries the falcon’s horror show
of a meal, yet is nurtured by the falcon’s
manure, and decomposing remains

the falcon’s eye muddles the grasses
into a distant smudge, wispy smoke
over the foothills and
the mirror of the lake

rocky shore, intense blue
she for the distance yearns.
fish come, to the shallows
to learn

cattail fronds and…