With them, I break my animal trail,
Canoe scrapes treelight for creeks.

Words dam rivers,  
Comets rise to feed.

I breathe like them,
Airholes stars have pricked.

Having passed under it all,
A world’s run over with me, 

Migrant island boats steeped with spruce,
My boots choke on the taste of clay.

Blazes are the eyes of steppingstones.
I see perfectly when they come to me.