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(Walking the woodson an early spring dry

day, the slopes behind Lane Landing Farm

on the Kentucky River, with Tanya and Wendell)


Under Dead leaves Tanya finds a tortoise

matching the leaves - legs pulled in -


And we look at woodchuck holes that dive

under limestone ledges

seabottom strata,

who lives there brushes furry back

on shell and coral,


Most holes with leaves and twigs around the door,

nobody in.


Wendell, crouched down,

sticks his face in a woodcuck hole

"Hey, smell that, it's a fox!"

I go on my knees,

put the opening to my face

like a mask. No light;

all smell: sour - warm -


Splintered bones, scats? feathers?

Wreathing bodies - wild -


Some home.

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