new england track retreating
through the back window,
flanked by green as the sky abov
yellows above
like a hurricane
yellows like a hurricane
leaving
everywhere else
the perception of things
rushing towards you, growing
ever larger in place
and -- that's what it is --
to be in place --
to be snail and plant both
arising for wetter airs
to structure it as flesh
mucus and roots permits for
the tingling touch of aging
of leaving, litter
and only then can you return