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Walking
a deer trail, above a cove
I lay down seven times
To the thousand year oak—
                                                      And think
                                                      about his new owner
Who owns
house, tree, and water

Walking
I lay down seven times
To white-star-flower
growing stiff on a stalk, 
in a pasture for the horses
who were shot, loaded, and buried

Walking
I lay down seven times
And read straight-creek- great burn
In front of old birch, pasture-grown
long-limbed, 
beautiful trunk

Walking—
Nothing matters, 
no one notices.
Aspen seedlings
who gain red leaves now
grow taller every day
lay down only once
in a wind gust
all along the road