Getting into the woods is easy—
Even in a park you leave the path
Only a moment—turned around—
Everything is almost right—
That beech was an oak—
The creek gone underground for a spell
Three notes sounding smooth rocks
Quartz breaking open in the hand—
In the thicket wait
Burrs, cuts and ticks
Up the stony hill
Trampled ferns and asthma
Down the gully broken logs
Or is it legs?
Well. Nothing for it
But to get on with it.
This time you're on your own.
