I walked on the moss
At your bare feet, my brother
They rose, singular
With my slim ten fingers
In the shadows and the nights
Under torrents of rain
When the heat lays siege
Whatever the colors
The seasons, the outlines
You link up like a circle
From your woods, earth to sky
The creaks, the cracks
And the silvery web of the night mycelium
The long ballets of jays
Under the dancing leaves
All the way up toward the tops
The swaying of the branches
The acorns that dance
Running backward from our cities