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Gone toad hunting, I always get muddy when I am with you, we whisper at the kitchen table between bouts of tea raining down our window vein, brain breaking down in protest and marching Main Street gloriously drunk and shouting sneeze in my mouth please, make me an emblem for disease and ill transparency telemarketing radio personnel on a daily stasis, the homo sapiens field dream to work water and sew sod into cold hard clay, the Easter Day cotton sun dress dance down crackling sidewalk of gravel, wooden paddle stroking the river along as the bank slides by as if it’s the one doing the moving, the shouldering momentum of wet pant bottoms, bells dipped in Sandy Hook Shallow, an elbow for arbor sake, shaky bare footing on the mud bank.  The thunder clad mountain breast bulging the Earth and the day, sailor’s morning nodding nicely as if to say nothing, quoting the echoed codswallop of the crick running over slippery rocks, the foster clock of tricky balancing acts on slack-lines, long-winded grasses reclaim fallen branches, swallow stone cast blithely at dawn’s pinking thrumbus, the robust sunder and sodden songs of the day, turkey-vultures praying in the roadside ditch before the corn field, road runoff gulching gallantly at horse’s speed, daring dash past opal-eyed vision of pearl, searching we find life curled around God’s knotted finger, holy blinking light of living breath, miracle of mind, memory softly forgotten, passed unto the pages of foggy recollection, tempered with evidence of another time nature where I was walking lonely, quiet and abated, along comes a stranger from the East, it is I whom you seek, the noble forest grove fawn set to striking, bucks glancing antlers, grinding on pine heart, heather bone drying down to sediment, relinquishing all former tenements and presuppositions, the position to set oneself standing feet shoulder-width apart, don’t fall apart before we have time to start again less abashed, more centered, lust slated for Tuesday after marsh suffering gracefully as cross-bearing babies and their headless mothers, the other night brigade riling up the wind bends into the sand, the teeth of time clenching lock-jawed and jaundiced, the hunting reminders beating back the barking night, opium flight of rum-runner origin, coppled sin of root decay, foundational collapse under our feet and then, we stop feeling paranoid because we need not live in fear, we steer ourselves by the crown of our head, ecru ribbon tugging firmly up from my spine, separating vertebrae to leave room for the holy spirit sunshine through, woven bamboo forests pulled tightly to the knees, released at the brief moment of weakness, shattered will stretching upward in one last violent rendition of existence, the reluctance to follow buttered bread loaves to their dinner plates waiting gravely on pork-fat kitchen table, fabled foot prints tracked across the tile floor.