Line Break Limbo
If this were a poem, where would YOU put the line breaks?
I wake to creamsicle dawn melting over the ridgeline of the Black Mountains, sugar foam pours down carved drainages into the cup of the earth. The day is warm already, rhododendron leaves unfurled and expectant, summoning spring and all her petals. The imposition of such weather like a hot iron stake stabbed through the gut of winter. Three weeks ago there were ice flows on the South Toe, chunky green and silver like layers of fish skin across the glassy surface of the river. Where are my powdered sugar snow mornings, when instead I wake to make tracks down the thicket, criss-crossing the pocked pattern of hare and hound into the silent ground?