The Wild Wood
Into the wild wood, where there are
No plates and no stitching. No tears
And no bitching. Only the wind
In the leaves. The chickadees chirping.
Nothing to claim, nothing to rescind.
The trace of an airplane high above
In the blue sky. No entrances
And no exits. The push and shove
Of the crows on the branch of a tree.
The rust-colored mushroom in the green
Tuft of moss. Everything fresh, everything free.
The tamarack by the side of a creek.
Squirrels fretting, owls hooting, deer
Turning. A carpet of pine needles.
The sun through the clouds. No fears.