Let’s go in the rain-wet air
Why do I always write in poetry?
My step is my meter
I like the dead trees
Their black gray white permanent
Against the temporary greenness.
Walk with me
See the goose on the water below
Cross the bridge with hollow footsteps
Come quickly now
There’s a black dragonfly
A white moth
The field of coneflowers so elusive
Can you see it, set back from the trail?
Never speak only listen
Hear the birds and the silence
Hear our footsteps
Sun on the muddy forest floor
Spots of light in darkness
Do you see me?