March 10.

Reticent, morning hides
behind boles of alder, the air
escaping his lungs

Calcifies in my jaw.
A caustic mist mists
Over the rivers pane. Thick

White trails into fine liquid
Black, interring the
slight, torn body. Orange sky-swell

Washes incandescent green: 
Dark sienna burns
A wide path to the waters scorched 

White stone. The wood 
Holds no sympathy: alacritous 
calls knife the credulous heart.