The plank fence is broken.
Two hawks wait on a cold wire.
A groundhog grinds its teeth

at me, then thrashes through
brush. Clouds slide by
like dark, smooth stones.

Pain in my gut is heat if I
say it is. Stitches were pulled
from the roof of my mouth.

My tongue still searches for bits
of loose thread. Icy fallstreaks
slip from the clouds. The sky's

an incessant, conflicted sea.
The groundhog lopes to its burrow,
turns its head to keep watch on me.

I set myself for distances, down
to bedrock or to the sky, to light
released by the farthest stars.

Trees move heavily. On the hill
each branch stirs. Bundles of needles
flash silver from the white pines.