I take the dipped fork
of near-identical width
but this left path is falling
and narrowed in breadth
It follows the slope
of the redundant stream
where the hills ran off –
once-washed – bare reached
But now drainage and driveways
have altered old flows
above ancient rights
there is no such urge
I pass standing iron –
a fence absorbed in a tree –
it needs no hard posts
in that adopted place
There’s a weighted trade
in these heavy woods –
between man’s intervention
and her constant response