Where the air is fresh
Slip into serenity
The point is to live
Rural in Nature, Transcendental in Temperament
In fall's woodland mosaic,
Disoriented.
It's not that we're lost,
Just quiet, nothing to say.
The owl spoke for us.
We were about to
Say something like a windrush,
And then we didn't.
Trying not to be
Afraid explains everything.
Call out to someone.
—a cento with lines from the collected poems (1975-1997) of James Galvin