There should be
holes in the sky, ashen.
if dry for the second; clouded
trees fill the space, dust-
y green and blue, for miles
of tinted land.
None of them call to me.
I’m an indifferent animal
barely crunching stones
lif/t.ing soles
above branches
so as not to snap.
Voices without footsteps;
how the sound carries
across fields. When there’s
nobody to block it
but frogs.
I am watched by a moth
trying to get by
my larger shape.
me too, I think.
me too.