Fever pummels as carabiners clack, and humming cables sway magnificent in buried branches low and far below. Danger is not…
Sodden earth, pungent with filaments of green, musky fragrance wavers
I am still a planchet, a flan waiting to be struck, annealed with heat, then cold, so much cold….
Abandoned Lock Canals, they ran like veins across tree-hooded land, pumping hope, surging grit,
Out of winter’s chaos, on this wind-bound bay, moss, wild rye and yarrow
Happy, hurried, unmolested, daytime stroll on city streets.