I can’t hear birds for leaves churning

Aspen leaves spark skyward orange and gold

flashing crazy into the blinding thin air

as if a mountain god had thrashed his forge


All through snow season

ravens will circle the frozen meadow

as if this moment never happened,

as if I never stood here to witness the wind

strip branches white in just a few seconds


By tonight the stars will be silver,

the meadow so still no one will believe

what I saw