by Ashley Baker
How many lines are lost in frost
where boot-pressed tracks mark my crow-flown morning path?
Scattered breath falls heavy with iridescence.
A due-east steeple stuns me,
I, drawn, gaze-caught in the dawn, awake! It’s blinding.
There, look, uncaught colors poised among the mountains.
I alight on the same seat every day,
mono no aware: to look out, and ache
for the skein returned
too soon.