by Maureen Scott Harris
of my shadow
falling away
from the sun
does it lead or follow
where are we going
I am anxiety’s horse clumsy-footed
erratic way-finder
how to get there—
how to get
there opens out like water
spreading across a field, flood of light
beyond this wooded road, trees rising
from their reflections
gestures recur
draw me on
in
to the land’s unfolding curves and swells
its breathless attention
holding still
by which I mean continuous on-going
a kind of flowing without thought
what is here
inside there
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 2