Begin in darkness, picking your way along the path,
mapping memory, not your flashlight's
                                                             narrow beam.

Moon is setting.
Drawn by the same string, sun has not yet
reached the horizon.

The gods live in myths
of ascent and descent,
while art is before
                                  and after.

Sun lights the dangling roots of a tree embedded
in an eroding cliff—
both in morning meditation.

What is and what isn't in a bobcat's four pads?
A fifth in the middle walks like a fox's
                                                heart-shaped center.