We see no owls or raccoons
but they thrive in our ignorance
they hunt and scavenge evidence
of what we were like once.
Dirty reverberation of events
we have not seen yet but will
a blaze invisible in the hills
with the resilience of children.
Felicity thunders first one way
spreading squirrel food hopefully
then without reason the opposite
a scatterbrained generosity.
The cliffs speak artfully
concerning everything more delicate
the sunshine shadows a predicate
spoken of before any history.
Take off your boots and venture
where words were forged from sounds
still echoing in a few minds
they can carry time
or dash it.