a mystery about it plate of red
ants we are served at dusk
rustle flame over paper what
is hidden behind what
we are being told over and over have been
for a long time sun rolls
down mountain and sets
yes the eyes are ash the ears
violets
rain scented along path
on way out of
more beautiful this time of day
snow melting concealing green gray sea
thrumming in limbs small tracks
moon becoming undone a sign
sitting down to plate at dusk of red ants