The frost on the grass
reminds you of the dust
on a stick of gum
the mist that floats on the lake
is condensation
on a wine glass
straight out
of the dishwasher
the wind
a subway car
at rush hour
too full
to stop
it has been too long
since you have gotten lost
in the woods
since the ocean’s blade
scraped off
your inhibitions
you wear mascara all the time these days
it’s hard to believe
you are not of this landscape
of steel and noise
you are as raw
as a shark
as wild
as the oldest tree.