Or, It's from our mind so it definitely will stick with us
Or, December 1st
he went out one morning & the mountain was no longer there
just dissolved & from the pines a shattering updraft of crows crying
get used to disappointment though the sky still wasn't used to it
arms stuck holding the purple exhale where the peak had been
by night the pines had calligraphed into flailing blips
the moon itself into the most bitter tooth having no frame
of reference nowhere to root no surface to reflect from
& the human's body shuddered like something he was going to shed
any instant simple as coughing sufferable as laying the day's things
on the table and walking out to see has anything changed
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