you know this is a landscape that
brings me to the brink
as the bitter edges of things
slide into memory

but something
is given back from the abyss--
sorrow dusted off,
calmed by the ferocious
storms of summer

carried by rain
in the resurrection
of the orchard.

there are ghosts of drunks
and dead teenagers
along this mountain road,
their voices echoing along
the curves and sheer bends
of broken guard rails

but there is a soft spot
in everything
even this fierce geography,

and after a slice of moon,
a scrape of sky,
an armful of rain,
the sky leans
towards the absolute

so thick with longing
that it is

almost impossible to breathe