One shoe
alone on the road,
stuck to black ice
in a goat-footed world.

Ironwoods armored
with rust-colored bark,
branches awaiting
orders to fire.

Dissonant choirs
of windblown crows,
fevers and fits
over half-gnawed bones.

In the whirl and litter
of yesterday’s storm,
a whitetail doe
with her gangly fawn.

April’s ashes
spiking the fields,
new snow gauzing
translucent wounds.