green herons are out in force.
a greener sun than that subdues the old world
sparrow chorus, as i reflect in the lake
filth makes fractals in.
i dont get around easily. my feet sink
in questionable wetness. a leech attaches
to the outer edge of a grey fungus
broke off from its stem, and we
are also detached.
a lone nighthawk flaps with the grace
of Mother Mary, in blue veils of sky
which thinnish clouds drape in part.
it has all been so sodden.
i have been taken aback and aback, and yet
i walk this trail alone forever. there is no one
to remind me to kneel down.
the ancient hawk doesnt care about me
this time. he faces the direction of rain yet
to arrive. i see right through this murky water,
but to save its face i carry on as though
it, and all things are utterly opaque.