Out of shape getting out of fifty three
Not top of hill where rain seeps into pasture
That's where raz fills his cabin cistern
And fattens the sheep near the ancient log section round
Riddled with old saw blades
From skillsaws like shelf mushrooms of teethed carbide teeth gone dull
A few years back looking at him now
Maintenance a city gym not a lot splitting an abstinence not a barefoot walk up the creek
Dew moisture gathers by the trillion
Runs down the grass blade
Waters it's host and worm by gravity not pitching camp
Rather finding low point
It goes there around a buried boulder
Or plough head or GMC fender or travois hitch knob
Gradation, water studies on the run
Below frogs under ferns under huckle bushes under fir under reprieve
Temporarily, the watershed havens
In late spring it's gone
In summer the beaver ponds give up their canteen to the passing heat
Unlike the swale where I am from
Which originates along the mountain to feed lesser mountains
To supply great hills to lend farmland and elk and horse before
Bloodgood Creek becomes the little klickitat becomes a tangent
Even in summer making way under
Every condition of basalt
Round rock shafts of slabs pebble sand dust
To the Klickitat not far from Columbia not far from Pacific
It's not a bad shape to be in, or of, or with
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