The branched polypore,
it came down like a spaceship,
a soft land on earth.

Forest floor below,
woodpeckers fly overhead—
my ancestors, both.

From the undergrowth,
close to the surface and hum,
all forms of footsteps.

In this still forest,
we listen to the river,
my dog smiles and walks.

Blown down in the storm,
five months ago orioles
nested and sang here.

I bloom like a bowl,
a rose-breasted grosbeak sings
sharp to the May sun.

In the dark thicket,
we live by the river,
faces to the sky.

Earliest spring days,
the woods are always awake,
birds welcome us in.