Ground

Each foray now
a little wonder

The brush we
piled last fall

here
there

a rustling
then rush

rabbit runs
to the bank

& away
and I

no longer
afraid

of eyes watching
from under

the heap of
fallen ash

sit
& the log sings

a symphony
of beetles

the sound
mayapples make

pushing up from
wet earth

all breath
squish & gurgle

gentling me

listen