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Bootprints to a Rabbit Hole


Through all my varied winds I show

to those who fold themselves in me

another branch of selfsame flow

which, pausing faithful, thins the tree.


The barrel spins and something falls —

light sun, light snow, light leaves, light rain —

with noise from feet unique. My halls

speak out like knots, record each stain.


Scion my past, silent my rule,

sliding power crushing flatter

all offspring of the summer fool,

freezing shut the hot world’s chatter.


Whisper this, as ships turn legion —

I am time’s beloved season.

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