Lines in the Clouds

the extinct dragon of the ozone
rock salt shouldering its way into a darkening gray
river sprouts dropping stones
summershine late November
the thunder of anvils across the spirit path
when the plane vanished from radar, a huge structure closed its doors
red rain and red scales
near the rocks falling from the sky, petroglyphs of dragons
an army of ash
the thick fog lifting over the valley of the swollen

This, Too, Happened in the Palisades

The green eyes of the witch girl,
egg shells.

Once climbing the Palisades of Illinois,
a piece of obsidian slipped into her smile
lining the sky with splinters of silver.

the witch girl’s hand a stick,
a broken branch,
a sforzando.

Thunder eased into a butterfly,

When the sun rises,
the deer leave for soft spaces.
She, too, finds a place of darkening,
lays on heavy bits of slate,
but never sleeps.