sketch the ridge waiting
for sunset, light beaming
behind cumulonimbus,
……………but I can’t get the trees right.

wildfires glare from the west
shroud us in haze, but the blue shadow
of sierra still towers

…………………………when the sky blackens,
…………………………the stars pierce
…………………………& I still haven’t seen one fall

finish the sketch from a photograph,
the memory of actually being
just out of reach, perfect days
blur at the edges.

…………………………sketch in pen
…………………………it forces deliberation

……………where you hesitate, where you’re firm,
……………trace it all from the beginning,

…………………………………..enamored with the possibility
…………………………………..that ink will bleed
…………………………………..when coffee spills

……………………………..I carve
the layer of dirt on my skin
underglaze on clay,
…………………………trace a finger
…………………………a print on sunburn
…………………………the light lusters.

– Nicole Bethune Winters