Ancient acorn gatherers at the falls,
blessing the water wading in water.
Vanish from footprints deposit the arrow
for future and unknown familiars,
Those yet to be born and being born know
that this is their birthplace and their oak tree
It is all things future and past -- the wood--
portends of what may and might, and would’ve
Had the grandparents not loved as they loved
had they not made sacred observations
Abstract, hypothetical, sanctified,
seen: what didn’t they think of? The ancients?
There still is a time there are no fences
and only the wise can unbundle since.
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