(written while several thousand feet in the air)
the ground is a confused checkerboard
all crooked lines
and rows of trees
like winding scars
the rivers carve their paths;
puddled blood
in an open wound
here and there
a hair's-breadth
highway line
points onwards and away
clouds are torn
off clumps of feathery down
suspended planes
of snow
with grooves like
a traveler's shoe prints
