we begin at zero.
You man the graph of trails.
Mushrooms litter the forest floor
like cast-off ears.  

Tamped pine needles make a springy mat.
Like struck matches, twigs crack.
A web sticks to my arm.
Visible in blinks, the blue
sky wheels above us.  

We unpack gray skin, broken bones,
mushy shipwrecks, twin wishes.
Our voices catch in tree crooks.                                          

~ Found poem composed/modified from words in Sandra Meek’s poem “Chronographia”