You can follow
the path back
into the woods,
walking
over loose rocks
and balsam firs.
Fallen leaves, thick
with the night’s rain,
line the old
hunting path.
Keeping eyes on
the brush, you might
be lucky enough to
see hint of a deer,
hear the snap
of twigs
away in the dimness—
Not much today,
however.
Not much
but the rocks
and the rain
and the far
off lull of
rustling water
forever over
the riverbed.