rushes by our feet, kisses our chanterelle shoes,
whiffs moments of
waveless path - a saltless ocean -
and sends us unrippled,
wandering our village streets.
It's a holiday
and everyone's at the shore,
or mushrooming in Morel-woods,
but Robert and me,
the unmarked cement without
even a red autumn leaf
shaped like a hand,
or a boat,
left to clutter its swath.
We touch each other
with hedgehog abandon, for the field
mushroom wet emptiness,
the lack of expectation.
A perfect truffle of an afternoon.
So glad to be walking in our shitake brown shoes,
so grateful for our infinite
Diane Wakoski is the author of several
recent volumes of poetry through Black Sparrow Press, including
ARGONAUT ROSE, THE EMERALD CITY OF LAS VEGAS, JASON THE SAILOR,
MEDEA THE SORCERESS. She lives and teaches in Michigan.