Rolling around Sauratown Mountains
on chestnut oak acorns.
Laurel leaves reach out to catch us.
Hemlock tea to guard against it.
But the acorns are falling all around us.
They’re bitter, and they shake
the ground as they make impact.
Any minute now we will be next,
hit, slipped, dragged down into the
crevices where the waters flow and
the woods fold into themselves.
Then that’ll be it – no more trips to the
Danbury Dollar General store for you.
No more haggling with the cashier
about the end of all currency for you.
You’ll be underneath with the lichens,
the Moravians and the mycologists of yore,
munching on the astringent
current of water and acorns all around.