ant5

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green dawn fog

we can’t see

past our fence

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odd plurals

you talk

in your sleep

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in a circle

the colorful rear ends

of my chickens

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someone

dropped their flashlight

in the fog

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an apple seed

somehow stuck to the glass

vibrates

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is it mist or fog

you look behind

the numbers

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the mist

pulls the hills

down into the pines

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it keeps on raining

who knew the dogs

liked Tchaikovsky

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at the bottom of

the grain barrel the mouse

that never got out

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hills effaced by mist

the apple keeps

a few leaves

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