Prompt Images
rest stop switch and we carve the canyon
the river on our left and then right and then left again
trees on the ridges charcoaled from last year’s fires
folded and looming through the smoke from this year’s fires
shadow puppet armies frozen mid-march
the freshtarred highway transforming to running ink
Clark Fork glowing like a dragonfly’s back
crashing and twisting below us over stones
that used to be part of the Sawtooth
“Meet me in St. Regis” I sing under my breath
the air between us stiffened into a wall
built from apologies I both mean and don’t
topical salves and medicine I’m not sure will take
my cheekpockets filled with stories I know not to tell
at least until the smoke is gone at least until we reach the coast
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