far from the monoculture
up in the hills here
and there you can still find
original patterns
new wrinkles in the ridgeline
a rare lichen
a nearly lost recipe
for disaster
the way a chipmunk can race
across a creek
ridge running you rise and fall
on crests and dips
of a sine wave
here an old charcoal hearth
there a borrow pit
returning to woods
you teeter through talus
clamber down cliffs
far from the suburban
absence of fear
where deer without hunters
spell understories without natives
following animal paths
you remember all the ways
to be animal
crawl on your knees
through rhododendron tunnels
to a place where yellow birches
rear up on their roots
and foamflower leaves recline
on sphagnum cushions
maybe you stumble
on a small forgotten stand
of old-growth trees
glowing in the low sun
full of character
like all those who live
long lives out in the weather
and you wonder knowing
how your heart might break
whether to come back
absence can grow anywhere
the ground turns white
