All That Changes

This afternoon the forest calls me from sleep.
The way down the hill is winding and steep

heavy with ferns and oak shade.
Beyond the weave of trunk and branch

the prairie prepares its journey.
Sun and wind burn and bend.

Worn shafts release their seed.
When I reach the valley I’ll wade

into the grass and face the wind.
Its small hands will baptize my fear of fall

and all that dies, changes and is born.


—Eric Nelson