night & day rain, the trail
gleams dark with mud
hikers blister & corduroy
come freeze, every rut is recorded
I feel the trail, think of my boots
how not to sink them, the trail
feels boots, remembers deer
their weightless springing
cleavings at intervals
crossing bog, sleek pelts
fleeing, or without hunters, not fleeing
bed to feed to drink to bed
fawns glance back to locate
others between bare trees, angles
of oak leaves not fallen, feet
dark with earth, that cacophony
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