sidewalk salt

i get my constellations
from the grocery store. i know i should
not have eaten my hands but
here i am, doveless in 
the moonlight. i think of my loneliness
like a limb. leg or tail or fist. 
when it is gone, still the phantom
running. the itch to walk out
on a night full of doors. god i miss
the city. god i miss the mountain. 
i even miss the field behind
my parents' house where the vultures
took turns telling stories about
the times before the sky. when it snows,
the sidewalks in the city went
all patchwork. one house with
a shoveler. one house with a sidewalk salt
lover. enough to pretzel a life into
oblivion. crunching beneath 
my unraveling shoes. i talked 
to the mountain once & it said
everything tasted too salty. i suggested
that maybe it was because of 
how we handle the snow. the mountain
sighed. there was something important
that i did not understand. i asked 
if she could explain it to me &
the mountain said, "i would not
have enough time even if i tried."
in the kitchen sometimes i get it in
my head that i need a taste. my pointer finger
in the bowl of crystals. salt from
the stars & star from the wind
& salt from the salmon. snow water 
in the creeks now, gushing like 
a spilled tomb.