All is burnt
Song birds curious
They’re working the larch cones, making little nibbling sounds
Хус (Betula platyphylla) suckering in the clearing
I wrote Cайн уу?, Hello, in the snow
For whoever passing herder
Found нохойн хошуу, dog rose (Rosa acicalarus), and three hips
Followed a snowy trace up to a pass
Still in the burn
Pen in my pants, against my skin
So it doesn’t freeze
I’m reminded of yesterday’s mountains
And of Abbey
Talking to Abbey yesterday
Conjuring him in a place that’d be good to die
And the crows flying by
And one making water drop sounds in a hollow bucket
Sounds you can’t write
And now putting pen in mouth for a spurt of ink
The most important part about all this is
Walking to the outhouse
Walking between the two гэр (yurts)
And looking up on those trips.
And from down there
Remembering up here.
That’s the most important part.
Knowing up there.
And remembering up there
Remember up there
February 28, 2014
Previously published in
The Swineherd’s Journal