Beneath trees, glossy with rain,
we walk among leaf litter,

dawn rising out of the pond
an orange bleed eating bits of haze.

We walk through loamy odors heaved
from earth, and twisted limbs

reaching toward light. We step
over nature’s photograms

of ash and oak and hickory
imprinted on rock. A pawpaw

rolls into a ditch, already
invaded by ants. Buttons

in my pocket click, answer
the tick, tick of chipmunks.

Wind blurs our voices, pushes
us back. We wonder about

asters, the lone five-lined skink
a blue bunting off course—

and the caterpillar
spending its life

chewing, chewing,
chewing.