At the edge of the miniature
golf course sits
an elves’ house
glow hearth lit

I strain to see the fire and find a naked
light bulb
distraught
wire everywhere elf house haunted long gone.
Nothing disappears at night.

All of us move to a house beneath a mountain
and it is what Vesuvius was
I wander atop it under fir
seeking for what that haunts

Trees’ needles wind and sketch

Air,

feeding leaves’ glare
in sun — don’t peer so long so long

crows caw call just yonder the path.
The Spirits of the people and animals past over
to the Other by slaughter or starved
white visible hand what cannot grasp or sketch

the storied pine branches Kli-ck i-tat
and so am I I see humming
of stone stove sap
these berries glow wide and bright white

Where am I? Who am I?