As you trace and track by sun and moon,
watch the time and currents.
Wave upon lap and slow-downed flavors – reminder
of trees out west, plants above a knee; sniff and snuff;
browned nose.
The track toward calling an end – hastens the light
is closing home so give it time.
Wave the leaves away from eyes and reveal my soil;
the footprints you stepped.
Track the moon, the light of persons who
gently fade before.
Watch cautiously down the fish eyed trails and
make song, throwing pitch across the water.
2010 Barry Comer
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gonna send this to my mom