building the blind

I use your eyesand think as you see the old placeas newtreading familiar pathwayscarefully leaving no traceno scent of my presencein our shared territorystepping back breathing it inobserving the executionof your ancient habitscomprehending the logicof your journeysand the reasons whyyou movefinding your shapes pressed in the grasswhere your kind haltsbefore stepping over the break in the rusted wirewhere you scrape the soft earthwhere you pass and have passedfor milleniayour prints still freshthe raw rubbed treesall the feral signs of your dangerous lifeyou are drawn hereby the fallen chestnutsthe white oak acornswhere the autumn sunwarms the sideof the southern hillwhere you hide at noonby the quenching waterwaythe cool places whereI spot you beneath the moonthe old paths converge herein this enfolding valleythis is whereI’m building the blindon the earthen dam above the small stream behind two treesI tie branchesto brambleslay a cover of twigsdrape brown grasslevel a spotwhen I returnI’ll sit for hourswatch the frost evaporateadmire the morning mistnote the insistenceof the woodpeckerand wait for the flashing instantI end your numbered daysthis ineffable special placeis not so uniqueeach foot of living earthis after alla place for dying*Words by TFD

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