Words follow
one another,
one picking up
the scent of the one
before, leaving a scent
for the one that
follows.
They head
for the sweets,
cookie crumbs
on the kitchen
counter. They
carry what may be
more than their weight,
carry it back to the hill,
to the nest.
A trail
then a flurry of words
Quick, quick. Keep up.
This poem was included in Through This Door: Wisconsin In Poems (Art Night Books, 2020) and is reprinted here with the kind permission of the author.