Have use of edges.
Alongside field—crosshatch trees
to their meadow pedestal.
Way is seam
here beneath eaves where when further
forest rises and effaces sun
camouflaging silver bleed
congeals. Smaller than rivers
go sleek like rivers and like
rivers slip unseen
below earthly surface things—
pour with invisible volition
between storm-tamped
weeds—slip clear
through stone to lick
fresh linings of eggs.
Chromatic curvature—scale
horizon’s arc littered with all
closest slightest movements
of toad and vole—small
measures of hungry sight.
More beautiful than wind more
grounded than birds
more clever and calm
than time what more
need for body than this:
To crush sloughed leaves
with slim sounds no louder in heaven
than none—migrate
through tunnel skin meant to briefly
burrow in—emerge
clean removed and hunt whole again.
