To See

Early enough the path is mine to walk.

A green heron stands under the floating dock

ready for me to flush it. The wake

of the mallard paddling away

mirrors the heron’s flight

through air laden with moisture, salt, & quiet.

Later I watch the bent woman who walks

& never lifts her eyes to see

as if the path were penance.

Needled in duff at the base of a pine

a red medallion painted

with white letters has waited months

to be seen & taken. Muscadine

inches closer, conceals it.