The many-
oared asters
are coracles;
the goldenrod
pods, triremes.
They do not
plan their
voyages
to please us.
The tangle
of brambles
and drupes shifts
only slightly
when the wind
attempts to
part the knee-
or waist-high stalks
and thorns. What will
you do or
be in that state
you fear and look
forward to,
when none of
them needs
us, after
the last
seeds leave?