Suddenly my world so closed
becomes open,
to follow every animal-trail that
emerges in the heaving, breathing woods.
Old roads now lead to houses
and from canals up high
one can keep an eye.
I could not find
the stepladder weave up the cut
of the powerlines;
nor could I find
the stack glissade of rock upon rock
springfed from out of a mine.
My home’s at once drafty and
dark becoming, doors uncontaining,
the roads all too entwining.
And so too, my within,
chambers filling and then draining.