Returning home, after so long away . . .
mint leaves and cicada shells,
hill-crests hung with violet mist.
I lounge outdoors on a canvas tarp,
stretch my fingers and toes
to the raw edges, watch red ants
scuttle in grass that shifts
from cobalt to emerald to viridian.
The hills grow taller and more central.
Cézanne hikes to a horse-meadow above Aix
to paint another Sainte-Victoire.
The faces in Ohio grow flat, hyper-pigmented.
Hocking Hills, Ohio
