21
Goose River
From the cove I found a trail inland Scared up a wild guillemot who’d been sleeping on a sandbar. Walked slick rocks, ducked fallen trees Climbed a chalk cliff Made my own switchbacks— Legs covered in white dust.
There’s always a trail on into trees, spruce birch keep going it only gets better.
Further down trail broke following the deer through wet ground to the stream Water flowing through narrow splits in the rock. And this old life more than a quarter gone— it makes me laugh!
A bag of bones; a pile of stones —sat for a while on the white pine root-arm at waters edge.
There’s always a trail on into trees, or grass spruce, birch, or oak
Where are you? Where you are.
Keep going it only gets better.