Listen!
10/20/96 my circles run through the woods sun westers away as it sets I take my place on the stone seat by the dry creek bed gold light gold dry leaves the wind slacked off almost to nothing squirrel's motion cicadas last calls -- three gunshots a pause three more -- this young woods is happy with me here in the young dark rising out of the ground all the way through its branches' upper twigs and on into the seamless sky that soaks up the shadows and sends back down like a fall of leaves the night's first images of stars so far off they have become serene cool familiar