Squak Mountain

Silly me, I had forgotten

a forest is not simply
many trees standing together 
without roads, 

                        and a person is not 
just the collection of stories 
they spin about themself, 

and a poem– 

                    a poem is something other
not just lines of words arranged 
from one place to another, beating 

Annie Dillard was right about the light 

the light that streamed 
towards me, silver speckled 
through neon maze 
and bouncing off
the surfaces of things shimmering
then sinking ashen with 
the shameless wind, opened 
a door for a moment