Share14 https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2020/dec/Moore-Adagio.mp3 Adagio even the things that are most “thinglike” are nothing more than long events – Carlo Rovelli These few acres once a homestead once ancient forest once scraped clear by ice- dragged stone Not being but becoming each boulder an adagio of dust A stand of second growth and waving fields of goldenrod cradle the little house nothing between us and wild yonder but a few sheltering gases The darkness out there not the emptiness we sense but an entity its own waving field Afternoon fades distinctions dissolve What’s animate inanimate Most of us slide into silence crickets chant cattails tap one another Languages overlap an acorn sprout launches through decaying layers of leaves I shuffle words Beneath the trees roots interlace https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2020/dec/Moore-Distance.mp3 Distance A blustery headland cluster of boulders remnant of henge or burial ground though when we step between the stones we find a hearth of recent use Sunlight spills in the gusts cut off Below the unheard waves recast the shoreline ancient people knew We venture down the rugged path skirt a marsh scale grassy dunes descend into distance ocean sky Thrum of breakers burn of wind tide edges in https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2020/dec/Moore-Marginal.mp3 Marginal Ice pond watery crown I skip stones splatter reflections of bankside pines scoot across sprouting cracks in the crust Come spring the stones sink to the bottom Threshold and the space on either side What’s weighty what’s insignificant Margin feather on the edge of a bird’s wing The way meaning travels from border to marker to not worthy of notice Latin margo The quarry of a hawk is a mark https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2020/dec/Moore-Visit.mp3 Visit Foot path stir and snap splashes of sunlight scoot across trunks Forest-combing we garner pine cone scales acorn caps chanterelle She comes into the cabin little smile on her face notes and scraps dusty sill settles on the day bed I’d tidied a bit rolled up wrinkled packing paper She tears off a piece sketches clouds in the creases ancestor painting a stag from a curve on a cave wall Gray-blue storm swells tint of petrichor brush of thunder She adds a strip of birch bark from our gleaning boat or home in the tempest Katrinka Moore is the author of Wayfarers, Numa: An Epic Poem with Photo Collages, Thief, and the chapbook This is Not a Story, winner of the New Women’s Voices Prize. She and her mentee in the PEN American Prison Writing Program were recently awarded the L’Engel-Rahman Prize for Mentorship. Moore lives in the northern Catskill Mountains of New York. Header photo by Dean Pennala, courtesy Shutterstock. Photo of Katrinka Moore by Michael Lawrence.