passing quickly via bike you see far into the woods now;
a gauze of blooms stitches the trunks and limbs
where men of vision eat from cans in scaly camps
and deer warm their hides, in beds of musky loam
squirrels acquire the trees, birds chitter in the budding,
creeks pop the cool clear air
a pilgrim moves along, sack over his back, a cloth to the head,
now stopping to remove his shoes, showing me what i want:
the path should be near the birth,
i should have no more than i can carry
and life in the trees is there, ever, for joining