November 19

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And here I am, again
seeking the simplest solace

the flicker of pink
in an underwing

don’t know if you saw it
which tips me over

again, the elegant branching
of a dormant magnolia

like alveoli against
the darkening sky

but too brittle
for breath, also

but this illusion
of inertia

is beguiling
for once flight

seems frantic
or perhaps just out

of reach
to stay rooted exactly

here without even the weight
of a thought of returning

no movement no reckoning
that might be fine

January 13

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All night the snow
sliding off the roof

the tattoo of freezing rain
yielding to sun at dawn

the deer came quietly
up in the yard

moving slowly
in the deep snow

and not too warily
the landscape softned

the foothills blanketed
everything settling

and coming down
to rest

January 10

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On the other side of the pass
it doesn’t flatten out exactly

but without the trees
the horizon appears everywhere

lines of demarcation
and a sense of expansiveness

doing laps in our skinny skis
we heard coyotes yap in the distance

and the sun it set
just a little bit later

January 4

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A different kind of rain
today, static,

and a peculiar light
cast up from the bay

filtering through damp streets
steel and glass

a very high tide today
they said-

knowing what is beneath,
now obscured, I can imagine

it more clearly, vividly
if less realistically,

a strange tradeoff,
and not an unwelcome one

January 3

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More rain,
and drowsy expectation—

soon, something
will happen, plans

have been made,
action will be

taken, just not

the world outside

discrete, drops
on the glass

each a microcosm
of its own

January 2

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Flood warning
even the hills

get treacherous
side streets

and alleys
like tributaries

water finds
the fastest way

or makes a way—
before I would

have made something
of this, or tried—-

now I just watch
some guy out

in the thick of it

and throwing rocks
at the cars that pass by

December 11

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The theme today was down
the staircase

the network

as a prelude
to entropy

the corallary

but less orderly

the IT department
not answering the phone

finally I left
up the stairs

that earlier proved

bruises like galaxies
in hazy expansion

sharp departures
from the orderly

and accelerating

December 7

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More doors are closed now
in the hospital

patients sequestered behind glass
scrawled on with O2 sats

a menagerie of respiratory failure
such an artificial habitat-

beyond the windows
the mountain is out

austere white margins
suspended above the horizon

by unlit foothills
what a sunrise today–

everyone was talking about it
neon pink as the surgical masks

our buyer found somewhere
although with each minute

the blockprint fades
into just a day

like any other–
banal elevator banter

and the growing hush of the unit
floating between two worlds

with an illusion of levity
like a cloud, or an iceburg