Someone has taken care
that all the edges should be jagged:
fence posts cut in descending steps,
path split by a constantly-shifting
line up to the edge where houses
shrugged off into the ocean, remaining
ground rippling across trees locked
upward. From a rock along the inlet,
she observes the planes landing,
crossing before Susitna and selecting
the international landing to the west
or the local airfield to the north.
If she can identify all of the objects
in the sky, she believes in order.
Beneath her, the rocks boast
cartoon faces and phone numbers,
the recovery of ancient method
almost reverent to the location.
Another woman scampering further on
the ridge slides down the mud bank
into a stand of grass, a collapsed circle
outlasting the animal that formed it.