Sometimes bounty is forgotten.
The way words seep and escape
in a haze, our mundane self
is stripped, carrying the weight
of the unknown, or of another time.

Our vital being, like foam nutrients
of our hearts, flows downstream,
thoughts obscure from what’s real.

Lift your boots over the steep places.
Bathe your mind in rich, thick loam
and pungent weeds. Gaze at the leafless
Ohia, barren bark, yet standing tall,

still rooted.