Camp One

Forty Years Out

The fog rolled in again and rolled out fatter;

last night camped outside town

there was an owl in a tree above the lantern’s

pale atmosphere, observing me,

measuring something, staring down;

the woods echo still with rusted tools

permanently stuck in trees

that never quite fell, or fell

one piece at a time over years,

splinters going soft

under muffling heaps of molding leaves,

lit by fungus, consumed in secret.

#owl