In the belly of the forest,

I can hear the giving breath

hot against the thought of continuance.

Quail skitter through the brush

like old men losing their grip.

The strange timbre of their cries

creates a slant sense

                                  of deja vu.

What the character of light

                                  will change,

Whole, swimming blues.

The trail curves into a tunnel

of pine. I stop, in hope

of discovery. Sweep of wind, high,

only the shuffling sound to know,

persistent.

                                  Far and gone,

I wait beside the brown and cloudy pond,

where bullfrogs brood in cadence.

Under the rough, gray sky, inveterate ties

                                  unbind.

Trust the shoring,

                                  as the disappeared

                                  return.

Mercedes Lawry (WA)  has published work in Poetry, Rhino, Nimrod, and others. She has received honors from Seattle Arts Commission, Artist Trust, Jack Straw Writers Program and held a residency at Hedgebrook.