i heard you in the thunder,
wolf, tree top, empty field.

we marked the bark with knives,
jagged lines turned to meaning:

you told me druids mixed salt
and blood, in places like this.


Everyone bristles
at the touch
of someone / thing
like her or that,
at the thought
of electric tips
crashing sparks by
the riverside,
or lost tree trunks
bobbing in murk.