At walk in the dry mesic woodlands
above the muddy bouldered Haw,
alone among forest giants. I know
a deep snowbank where foxes den.
aim for a circle of white oaks
ancient hickories, sourwoods dancing
toward the light, beeches in a circle
a row of eastern red cedar trees
aging imperceptibly but certainly
as I am most certainly aging
an old man in old woods, bone-food
and leaf litter soon enough. to be
alone amidst such love such calm regard
a borderland of slow easy conversations. death
ambling like Coyote toward me, smiling
box turtle road 