Rib Mountain, Wisconsin

We drive past Rib Mountain,
the highest in a flat state—

sometimes fog mists
its side. Or rain

makes it look like a dark
green ship. Today

the sun, a carpenter,
builds a gold room at the top.

originally appeared in Dogwood Journal (2005)

Published by

Dave Bonta

I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.