Walk 1

Walk 1

i
Up before rise,
you too, piss,
wash hands,
beg to come.
We boot up,
bleary eyed blue,
venture out,
seek a dawn
as if it were remedy.

The hay bales are struck by an anxious sun,
lingers long behind budding trees.
Primroses are iced, arums recoiled.
Low, acidic euphorbia bounds banks,
stream runs a clear length of field.
Woods are roused a golden brown.

ii.

I pick garlic for pesto,
carry greenness under arm.
You stop and start,
noticing everything,
as I taught you,
ask about identifying
fruticose lichen,
why moss is moss,
why water isn't pouring
upon paths today.
"They look like coral.
These are a carpeting plant.
There's been less rain."
There are plenty birds,
each urgent in song.
I don't try to identify one,
instead focus on nailbeds,
joints chilling to a burn,
the sting gully nettles bear,
still we take the long way home
cast giant's shadow,
run in and out
of each other's dusk.