The half-life of doubt is 3.5 days  
It’s now been five

The rain came in overnight
and tufts of cloud sat right 
on the mountain pass

The Skykomish was a
color not yet named

and all along the drive 
petrichor gave way
to verdure

new growth on the maples 
the snow receding 
foothills bared

by the shoulder season 
ski lifts toothpicks in scale

There is nothing like a mountain 
to fill in a loss, to crowd out thoughts

to measure passage 
It’s been a month at least 

since I saw the other side
dry and bright despite overcast

skies, birds of all kinds 
struggling to be heard

over the grating air 
conditioner  

and making a racket
in the thigh-high grass