Is it just me
Or is it just four bottles of beer
Or is it just the picky, pock, patchy
Thawed and re-frozen
Left-over snow

Or the starry sky
A hint of Northern Lights
With the beautiful s-bend of the river
Willow and alder as skeletons
Scribbled against the winter meadow

With river-washed flotsam
Caught along the fence-line
The big trout in midstream under the bridge
In daylight behind her rock
And why not still so now?

Or is it just peculiar -
That while to every horizon the stars fall to Earth
As secrets on countless tongues -
That the word on my lips
Is your name