It's impossible
to walk softly
in these woods.
They aren't soft.
They are.
And as she is,
we who walk
can or can't
what we want
with inflated tires--
to ride
the snowy hill
or traverse
through mud.
Although we try,
dressed
in warm clothes
to conquer her--
silly all-terrain,
some capsules
to protect us
from what?
Ourselves.
To walk softly
in these woods,
impossible.
They are.
And She is.
It's I am
that prevents
it so.
To conclude.
We walk.
She is.
[March 30, 1994?]
