a round and round walk

the bare trees of March:
fallen leaves on a forest floor
wild mushroom spore
a crouching sphinx
a frightened fawn
an old abandoned door;
one phallic nose whose breath
plays with the chill of dawn.
a piece of hemlock branch
where i rested for a drink:
an articulating rock
squeezed by certainty and chance
and a golden eagle overhead wondering what i think
as i experiment
with silly primeval avian calls.
a natural figure comes to mind
wearing testicular eyeballs
while i maneuver over
powerful mountain streams,
much darker than i ever remembered
in my dreams.