The Sun Moving Across this Particular Earth
 
 
When you’ve run out of things to look at –
the ant’s erratic mapping
            the water picking up and setting down
the hillside’s double
the mountains spreading alluvial fans              and your eyes fill
 
 with rose hips, red shale, the deep of this lake
 
            When you’ve done your wondering at the dust,
                   how each fine layer has simplified itself into rust-tinged rock

and you’ve noticed the lobes of a thimbleberry
                             the fly’s artful hands
the crinkled hair
                                                  of a grizzly caught on a bark snare
When there is no light to see
 
contour and scale recede          leaving you only the mammoth shadows
the peaks as they block out the stars