Somewhere, there is mud without a boot-print.
Somewhere, there must be zones that
get tracked only by small muskrat
pawprints and doe-hooves.
Somewhere, there is still a wild
and a secret--a hidden shade plant
loamy and dark.
Like a rolling drop of water to a well
will I be there, becoming groundwater;
adding to the yellow spring
that permeates the quiet soil.
I will grow a wood-ear.
I will board up my bellowing mouth.
My body will sleep silent
and glory in the feeling of being alone.
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