Blowsy laurel blooms fleck
a pathway, starting the slow
twist of seasons, grand desires

converting to stasis of summer,
burnt landscapes of fall.
A warbler swivels one eye

toward me, one toward
a hawk in moving pines.
Sand on the path waits

for the sea's return—glitter
of water, hot sting of salt.
A hawk lifts a flopping

animal. A deer jumps
in front of me, white tail
flaring, behind her a faun,

freckled world's daughter
leaping. My heart tries
to burst my ribs and follow.