Leaves Congealing in Spring

My feet wet in the river smoked
a joint on the rocks how wondrous
to be all one with nature absorbing
trails and the gray sky dribbling
its sadness across the mountain
rooms in the cabin haunted with
hangovers now everybody’s asleep
after I’ve eaten my shrooms I
could stare at my feet and watch
myself growing decay
seems like a waste
so traipsing alone through the
flickering wood in the midst of a song
swaying trees and pittering rain
quarter century old and no longer afraid
leaves congealing in spring.

-r. miller

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