Kintsugi

He slips on ice near a mailbox — no gemsbok leaps across the road — a singer tapped an eagle feather on his shoulders — women washed indigo-dyed yarn in this river, but today gallium and germanium particles are washed downstream — once they dynamited dikes to slow advancing troops — picking psilocybin mushrooms and hearing cowbells in the mist — as a child, he was tied to a sheep and escaped marauding soldiers — an apple blossom opens to five petals — as he hikes up a switchback, he remembers undressing her — from the train window, he saw they were on ladders cutting fruit off cacti — in the desert, a crater of radioactive glass — assembling shards, he starts to repair a gray bowl with gold lacquer — they ate psilocybin mushrooms, gazed at the pond, undressed — hunting a turkey in the brush, he stops — from the ponderosa pines:whoo-ah, whoo whoo whoo—