Another Deer Path

I want to feel the scratch
from the burrs and brambles of your journey,
the sting of antiseptic that leaves
a trail of cleanliness through dust
and mud.

Have you discovered
the other half to my truth?
We stub toes on the Rosetta stone,
we bleed in Greek.

It means everything, everything.
Step aside, let me stomp down
the sticker bushes until we reach
the cloven mud prints
and a path of bent grass that leads us
to the moss covered sleeping grounds.


for T.