who cares that this trail runs over a sewer line?
the autumn leaves still pave the earth in umber;
the river giggles and delights the birds. the pine
grows once like grass, and once like prehistoric ferns.
the sandstone angel statue never leaves her slumber
her dress outstretched, a napping place for feral cats.
this trail transforms the bush into a shrine
and sunlight into haze so rich it burns.