Starting out on a wander across a bridge
that sways under feet, between gravity and air
you meet Northern Flicker. You stop,
body posed in mid-step like an animal;
you and the bird look into each other’s eyes.
He stands on the ground, flees from your burning gaze.
You straighten your beautiful back and walk on.
Like the river you now part the meadow,
rose-hips and brambles surround us.
I take note of the names given the flora
by Man in the garden– Thimbleberry and Alder.
Again your hand sweeps the grass to one side,
serpent of rushes, apple light falling over your face.
Is this what wild is? Coming onto
the riverbank, sandy pebbles,
a spiral made with blue stones.
Some come to be warriors.
Some come to love.
You leap up on a log.