Syllabics
The sun made new again
Shadows of ice
As vertebra cut through.
Beauty unlike a blown
Glass bird, patterns
Of fluted beads—instead
Silt or sand, or something
Fractured. A plain
Of grit, a sediment.
From the forest the wind
Had utterly
Transformed, a small nest thrown
Into the path intact—
Moose hair and moss.
In their blue and distant
Taper, you hold in poise
Mountains: upon
Stone upon stone.