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George Lewis Avery

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near days end
i point my toes
along an untamed path
where poetry falls
in sheaves of autumn shed
where layer on layer
lies mulched in volumes
of composting print
[archaic type]
that has been atomizing
along its underbelly
since adam
and i hear
and i feel
the breath of the beast
and [beast] it certain is
for the forest floor
is teeming
with life

concealed
are [etchings]
of the padded heel
that has scampered by
on its way to the watering hole
-nary a pawprint lies exposed
whereby a prudent eye
might guess the beast
to the day [and hour]
-even if i brush the leaves aside
to reveal an impression in the soil
it is too faint for the eye
-no footprint can survive
the discombobulations
of rain and wind
mole and wren
and worm
[forever]

that was my thinking
but you [my friend]
have changed my view
i have seen the crater
left by your shoe
a hazard
to any passers by
who might blindly come
and suffer to fall
and so i thought to fill it in
as i hitched my plow
to the forest floor
but

there is not earth enough
nor time to level your track
and i am resigned to wonder
how deeply the impression goes
for your footprint clearly shows
in each successive strata
the moldboard turns
and so i pursue
via an unorthodox
albeit archaeological dig
the underlying crux
and i find your footprints
[your signature]
engraved in bedrock
as old as a trilobite
though you passed this way
as recently as today

i crawl forth
with your hieroglyphs
indelibly etched on my psyche
i feel like a cherub
for the night is agleam
with a twilight pastel
and i make it home
on borrowed wings
of inspiration

.oeg ©