my father's forest. my mother's.
walking staying shadowing
sometimes shooting
again. again.
crisp air and the hish of quakies.
the careful noise of feet printing
the frosted dew and no. again no.
a bluebird day.
in a bluebird lifetime.
using confidence but
they get wary. too.
airwashing breeze
and no anchor. iron sighting
but see how shiny these boots
are? and then
always always breaking
always busting
never hup.
and damn.
that broken down rainbow.
chasing it
whole years,
listening to everybody's mamas about those colors
and ignoring everybody's papas about the mists
now glassing and glassing and what are they
even talking about? raptured captured and
gone.
neither are there now, anyway.
keep on keep on deeper in, higher up.
to the montane and look. for
one thing do not give up. say
yet.
flinching even
with a big runner and
casting casting casting wide. and wider.
following some other bell.
he's all birdy.
never holding. and wavering at wing.
the jiggity of the hotspot jolts the nerves and
unsteady to shot.
jumpshoot
jumpshoot jump.
and rebound.
false pointing. yes.
but finer than that and harder to scent
are the clandestine the blinds.
the chasing prisms and running for re's:
refraction. reflection. and others.
being defeated by the specter of
a rainbow. never yet has it been anything else.
