rocks

I sat in the woods and
saw myself, the maker,
the taker, the steady walker,
awakened.
And nature called me
and calmed me against
the pounding of my heart.
Pounding.
A straight-laced life and
laced shoes for climbing
to find my tomorrow.
Tomorrow
may already be behind me
if I let my song stay silent with
winding talk of time against us.
What of the present?
There’s an imprint by the
stones, of the making of a
path from home, to home,
still.
Certain of not knowing what’s
sure to be learned, I turn my eyes
along the lines of deep dark
ferns.
Clear water runs along the
dirt and like our hurts grows
dirtied, to be cleaned again on
hard, cold rocks.
And there I am.