The Ancients by Mario William Vitale

The Ancients
by Mario William Vitale

It's my last day with the old giants in MORNING, I hike the lost trails sniffing the aroma of the bark that cinnamon of the forest. Under tepees of wood in a membrane of shadows, I stalk the earth's mammal traces, its elusive tracks. I sit on a fallen log where spiders macramé moss sloping to my knees unaware of invisibles within, grubbing in their tunnels. A lizard taps my foot, responding, I muse to its touch. My thoughts are like Indian visions and when daylight mushrooms into night an owl hoot comes from the cedars. I still sit with a lizard on my shoe Huddled with the ancients of the woods