And then the groundhog died.
No weather breeder,

neither calm
nor a forecaster

of future tempests.
Once upon a

time

was the same thing
as the storm

pounding the bay, or
wrecking your head. Rites of

passage. Temporal
differences in behavior

separate us. Your day
begins as the great horned owl’s

ends. Remember
when your nocturnal behavior

led to these scraps
of paper. Unrecognizable

handwriting in
an unidentifiable language

that curls | collides | crashes
before leaking

off the page.

It’s not a question
mark. It’s a pipe

you won’t light.
A bar we can’t erase.

You are so beyond
vaping. Know nothing

about navigating helicopters
through the fog.

We can’t drag
an atmospheric river

in search of survivors.
They say

it died while hibernating
in its den late last year.

(not created with ChatGPT)