Midweek, no one on the trail.
You are observed
by draped vine and low fern, a continuous dreaming
among moss-hung branches, sky
and forest joined above you
like the whole fabric of memory.
Hours without speaking, until
from the uneven dark you have carried
energies of mind and body make a bright leap
Shadows that yesterday moved
as if deep in sedition, and straightened
with sudden alarm
at the shifting of light,
today glide a smooth pace.
Through moments of rest they wait with you,
more still than still water,
until you are ready to move on.