In the rising mist, trees
are bodies bound by distance.
The muffled mirth of water
wrapping stones draws my step
from rutted paths to seek
seclusion pillowed in moss.
Mine are the only feet to mark
beside the tracks of whitetail
to follow along a willowed bank.
Hidden in the fold of grounded
clouds, filtered sunlight glosses
tips of rockripples and hands
reach out to hold the glow.
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