turkey-tail polypore
eavesdropping on dead air
a turtle has left its shell
for the autumn rain
a cloud forms just below me
on the rocky slope between the trees
moves without moving
ceasing to be here and re-forming there
and i am seeing ghosts again
it’s a question of distance
a galleon of vague regrets
drifting toward the horizon
or the fine spine and spool of her
unwinding in a wind of fingers
the air is cool but close
acorns fall with muffled thumps
on the north side of the mountain
the moss grows deep
a mosquito swells and darkens
on the back of my hand
