In The Unmanaged Forest

In The Unmanaged Forest

waiting on a squirrel without a plan i opened a

container in our moving vehicle of vines, and ivies

drove the spanse of massive oak and cedar branches,

cloaked in silver capes of moss steeled like monks,

gone from the path before it closes.

on field hare, whiskering brush, on gators back coulda
been cake-dried mud, until we saw it swam. red fern

flowers looked like beans too wet to rattle, wind tries.

under a white rock a woman answers a prayer with all

of her might, fallen logs answer in kind with shadows for

modesty. i am drunk seeing her. Pandoras trunk never

undulated like mine does, against the breaches in your

perimeter. like one makes allowances for a child, you let

me arouse your stewardship, for ive no mooring now,

except the luxuriant waving of the stock-still grasses

in the water below it.