I saw the trail one Sunday – noon
The exit of the shopping mall –
A path of books led from its door
Into the highway’s concrete sprawl.
I turned to see my friends go on
Into the glare of another store,
But looked back to the path of books
And lingered at the high glass door.
I kicked the door, and swung, it did,
My hands weighed with consumer goods,
I followed the trail beyond the town;
The path of books led to the woods.
I crawled the trail, as if a dream,
The moon came out and I awoke,
In a muddied forest beyond the screen,
A land where twisted tree trunks spoke.
The marl was carnal beneath the books,
I found myself fall through the mud,
My body lost inside the earth,
I swum within her uterine blood.
But dreams were floating like the moon,
Released as my body fell away,
To feel the levels beneath the soil,
Return to the original clay.
The magic words had somehow reached
The land behind the glassy veil
Of ancient wood and un-chained breeze
New worlds of meaning on a paper trail.