Three Poems from Areas of Fog


Wind’s form fleshed
in this web’s
gesture

                               outside
the closed window.

                               

*

                               

Dangled above
the traffic’s rasp:

a contrail

a crow

a nail gun’s echo.

                               

*


                               
Light
a spider scales
one branch
to the next
      tilts

in time
with the wind.
      Wind

revising
shadow
stretched

on a flat
patch of
tan grass.


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