Tiglio Alto to Monte Forato

ancient cart wheels
abandoned
on their sides
on the valley floor
their spokes splintered
engaged
covered in moss
and vines
and stones
the ground is obscured
by morning mist
in the distance
an upturned skull
is dormant
against the sky
as though a step through the fog
to the far bank
is to leave the past behind

Swimming in a Sea with Emotion

Wrestling the octopus
One tentacle under control
Another takes hold
One grasps your wrist
You peel it off
One wraps around your rib cage
You wriggle free
One slips around your neck
You detach it
One slithers around your thigh
You slip through its grip
One grabs your ankle
You kick it away
One encircles your shoulder
And tries
To pull you under