Poems

Staring down a grassy mountainside -
imagining lines I could take if there were five feet of snow.
Around that tree? It's hard to decide. Maybe I'll just flow and let the mountain tell me where to go.

Don't force anything but take control. Look ahead, is there any flat terrain?
Where's a good place to smoke this bowl?
How about right here, at the screen?..I'm sick of the rain.

Are the San Juans cold enough to make the drops into a base?
Or will I still be skiing over branches in December?
The other day I looked south and saw a white north face.
But before I can ski, I'll have to wait til the end of November.