Those who went ahead
of us in the forest
bent the early trees so that they grew to signals:
the trail was not
among the trees but
the trees
and there are some who have dreams
of birds flying in the shapes
of letters; the sky's codes;
and dream also
the significance of numbers
(count petals of certain flowers)
In the morning I advance
through the doorway : the sun
on the bark, the inter-twisted branches,
here;
a blue movement in the leaves, dispersed
calls; no trails; rocks
and grey tufts of moss
the petals of the fireweed
fall where they fall
I am watched like an invader
who knows hostility but
not where
The day shrinks back from me
When will be
that union and each thing
(bits of surface broken by my foot step)
will without moving move
around me into its place