I wish to grow dumber,
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
til the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will not know who loves me
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember,
nothing to forgive,
I will stumble into the juice of berry, the
shag of bark,
I will be dense and happy as fur.
by Noelle Oxenhandler
coyote photo graciously provided by David Dibbell