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tree meditations and others 227
when I dig some out and squeeze it
it becomes a rich red mud in my hand
Somebody else: "I like the smell of the pavement here."
leaving under the fog,
past the rain forest,
the wet green hills,
a few small houses
solitary, at intervals
in small clearings
in the greenery -- fog
with us still, moving
among the treetops,
the Sitka spruce, the hemlocks,
the red cedars, the fi rs,
in dark assemblages --
rounding a curve we see
a faded Mobil red horse
full size, fastened
on a sagging shed
in the yard of a small house
set well back from the road --
fastened at the proper angle
for ascent, aimed upward,
forehooves striking at the air
on the weathered drop-siding
Just in time for the fog arriving.
It pours around the streetlight, drifts
Through headlights swinging stiffl
On the curve at the foot of the hill.