In the Olden Days (Bog Turtle, Northeastern US) I was a turtle hurtling down warm rivers beneath the spectral ferns their ribs bearing up the amber sky. I circled away from the hot stones waited in cool eddies and pools. For what did I wait? The muddy rushes were peopled by an eye-feast of birds. I hid from them but secretly we both knew. For what do I wait now? The rivers cold and sharp against my bones the noise awkward the sky turned to clay.
