I’ve hills to stare at now,

hills and wire where birds sit.

Seems nothing will stand in place,

bottom dropping out in every direction,

the basics no longer assumed.

Still, the blessed pace of clouds is just right.

A deep fire burns in toothed cliffs folded

between soft slopes across the valley,

they smolder even without light;

Heart of that earth gathers to it eyes

and broadening questions.

I take each day like salt to the dish.