The many-
oared asters
are coracles;


the goldenrod
pods, triremes.
They do not


plan their
voyages
to please us.

The tangle
of brambles
and drupes shifts

only slightly
when the wind
attempts to

part the knee-
or waist-high stalks
and thorns. What will

you do or
be in that state
you fear and look

forward to,
when none of
them needs

us, after
the last
seeds leave?

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