just past the last internet tower
a rattlesnake’s elegant S
slipping through the crushed stone
almost makes you
want its skin
and divining this
its terminal bones
buzz in your direction:
down-ridge over the rocks’
stormwater eyes
which let you pass through them
as easily as the vultures
or the common mullein
at the first overlook
from a seed planted
by a hiker’s boot
on a well-loved trail
a raccoon’s footprint
might spell hard luck
for endangered wood rats
and yes most of the old trees
have fallen to new blights or pests
that travel the same
pilgrimage route
hemlock woolly adelgids
hitching rides on birds’ feet
spongy moth caterpillars
ballooning in each June
but the vistas are glorious
one can still dream wilderness dreams
ignoring recent clearcutting
in the swampy woods below
the old oaks that remain up here
are still so extravagant
seeming to gesture
seeming to conjure up
you can find forests two inches tall
made of gray-green lichen
stop to watch a slug
cross a jagged rock
a study in single-mindedness
gliding on his/her orange foot
or a sharp-shinned hawk
might speak to you
from atop a snag
your eyes meet
you notice how the branch
keeps swaying after he flies
launching into the green-
feathered wind
descent is difficult
who wouldn’t rather stay high
on a mountain stretching
half-way across the state
low as a wrinkle
in the earth’s hide
this would-be spine where pines
grow old and empty
and you peer into the largest one
and find another snake
this time no wilderness creature
but a black rat snake
coiled and sleeping like
the climber’s rope that it is
nearby a tussock caterpillar
yo-yos in mid-air
white and bristly
as a lost eyebrow
and charmed you decide
to walk all afternoon
looping back
in the long shadows
to your car
Jackson Trail, Rothrock State Forest
August 11, 2023