if I follow these tracks,
not into thickets, but past roots
falling like long hair
down the banks, I will find them.
I hunt without arrows
or guns, only the net of my eyes
strung across the path
you said in the morning
the personal gods come to drink
from streams like these
& perhaps that is why
these ears catch words easily
near water, stray conversation
overheard between the bringers of visions.