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.