High fog hides Goat Mountain's peak
and casts a glow the color of rotting pearls
to blacken a row of digger pines, transforming them
from twisted sentinels on guard in a line
to a great beast's bottom teeth
fresh with arterial blood.
Selves we made who saved lives
quail at the roar of wind we remember from before.
All is quiet here except in our minds.
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