Today, I drove the Catskills in the pouring rain,
leaving behind the ephemera of the valley--
fading paint and rusting cars and barns fallen down to kindling
(now too soaked to set alight)--
to go up into the mountains, above the clouds,
and I wanted nothing so much as to stay there, lost in the woods,
among bare trees and rising streams and old stone walls,
somewhere out of time.

Coming home, the sky came down
with fog as thick as the sea,
and I sailed underwater in the solstice dusk
through trees silhouetted in the sunless sky.
There are no stars nor moon tonight;
the clouds hang low, catching the smoke, filling up the valley.
Tomorrow, the sun will rise up over our houses on the riverbanks,
but for tonight, I am alone, underwater in the sky.