in a makeshift shelter
of pine needles and cedar boughs
i breathe in this one moment
the only moment i’m Alive
these trees have little use for my paltry mulch
the hibernating moles and voles loathe me
to them my intelligence is a passing vapor
no more real than the space and time
i try to define
even the stone that cuts 
into my shoulder blade is contemptuous 
of my hairsplitting soul
winter is when I wear layers of wool
and the forest goes naked and dances
in the wild wind of Polaris
and water changes its nature to become
solid with the stone and mocks my desire
to go with the flow

i’m stopped here
an unguarded lump of clay
unable to speed my heart’s slow tempo
of being unneeded 
afraid to move
afraid all this life will stomp me out