Kintsugi

He slips on ice near a mailbox —

no gemsbok leaps across the road —

a singer tapped an eagle feather on his shoulders —

women washed indigo-dyed yarn in this river, but today gallium and germanium particles are washed downstream —

once they dynamited dikes to slow advancing troops —

picking psilocybin mushrooms and hearing cowbells in the mist —

as a child, he was tied to a sheep and escaped marauding soldiers —

an apple blossom opens to five petals —

as he hikes up a switchback, he remembers undressing her —

from the train window, he saw they were on ladders cutting fruit off cacti —

in the desert, a crater of radioactive glass —

assembling shards, he starts to repair a gray bowl with gold lacquer —

they ate psilocybin mushrooms, gazed at the pond, undressed —

hunting a turkey in the brush, he stops —

from the ponderosa pines: whoo-ah, whoo whoo whoo —