“i won’t follow”

where we walked, wolf;
through the groves
with manicured lawns,
neat little beds of flowers,
under the little arch
of branches, grown
into shape, like we were
supposed to be.

i can’t think about what
i should say, because
i’m too busy wondering
how you’re going to write
this place away.


find a new way through the trees, wolf.

only so many stop for mushroom circles,
fallen trunks, and cairns of river-smooth
stones – the rest’ll race through distraction
to find a way to love you, close up, in person.

best avoid that