Walking A Local Trail

Tree limbs replace my bones.
A thing I do to feel rooted to a place.

I stand straddling a slight stream.
I am the Colossus of Rhodes.

In the hollow the wind swoops down
and steals my cap.

Smoke, miles filtered by pine needles,
is a barely recognizable sniff.

The forrest’s palpable pulse
requires shrewd awareness.

The canyon towhee’s backward hop
is most endearing.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

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