Michelle Paulsen
weekends of walking into the you grow tired a strange sudden
in storms
in storms,
mountains lose their
shadows, and
rage against the
deprivation. they cannot
comprehend the
loneliness of
living below, a
small stark
life on a level
plain, a vain
search for a
satellite in the
noon-day
sun
 staring at a naked
up on his there is something
then there was the it may be a
snowflakes are fireflies for driving in the there is a
2River