it is not always a lie i tell; my excuse

to wander the backwoods behind

my old house, i say i wish to capture

the trees in their undressing during

the mid-thrust of fall. today, i

photographed an old black cherry

tree starting to lose its bark, close

to collapse. today, two deer danced

in front of my lens long enough for me

to document it. today, i followed a man

for miles into nowhere, until i was

completely lost, no longer sure of which

direction the sun would set. the man

asked me what i am doing out here so late

in season, and i pointed to two swallows

circling each other in what I presume

was in lust to say i like to find things

when they’re unknowing of their own

heat. he nods, he understands but the words

are caught in his throat like a brush

of leaves. a third man followed us through

the forest in hopes that we will lead him

to his unraveling. he says, he found a

mushroom so orange, it could be the sun,

told us he would take us to it if we wanted.

we nodded without questioning his intent;

we are all here for the same thing, but none

of us are willing to admit it.

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