Fall 2022, Volume 33

Poetry by Philip Nast

Altered State, Frost Valley

We’d been cutting and notching logs
for lean-tos when we broke for lunch.
I headed for a nearby stream
to cool off. Where I stepped in
was broad and shallow, but upstream
was a waterfall and deeper water.
Under the falls lay a smooth, still stone
in a tub formed when spring runoff set it
in motion to slowly grind its way deeper.
We skinny-dipped in the icy pool.
Trees vaulted the way as I walked
a bed of umber, yellow, and gray stones.
Shadow and light played around me,
and for a moment I felt as if the me
in me rode my shoulders, as a child might,
as I placed my feet in the dappled water.




BIO: Phil Nast is part time cheesemonger and lives in a 200 year old farmhouse on a hill in New York.