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Is it any wonder
my mind, searching
for anchor goes
again and again
to a single footfall,
a spot along a trail
red bark giving way
under my boot
catching me up
in maternal embrace?
A moment framed
in wood mint,
its squared stems
extending
toward small
lavender flowers,
and sorrel –
heart drop leaves
spreading their love
low and fervent.
The moment
is one just before
my right foot
lands on an uphill slant
after which my left
will crest the hummock
disguising great roots
below,
while the rustling
of deer
on the far side
of the canyon
cause me
to raise my head
from the lush path.
That moment.
The grey-green dust.
The redwood saplings
clustered
like hungry piglets,
thin strips of sunlight
swimming
in the gully beside
and my step yet
to complete itself.
Just that.

Nov. 26, 2013

One of 30 poems in 30 days

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