Leaves patchwork a trail to the stream.
My footfall on the bank scatters trout
who come to spawn each August, jeweled
reflections following instinct.
My son called today, a should-he
or shouldn’t-he conversation. I listened,
questioned. His indecision is unknown
by wild things who live the primordial,
Through the trees, moon eclipses sun
in an eerie twilight unruled by manners,
mores, norms. Crickets start reverberations
in the trees. Bright glints in the water move
through my shadow, the moon’s shadow —
stars in an ancient galaxy.