So You Can Follow

Half these trees are shadows, but which ones?
Something’s clouding the lens of the sun. 
Maybe clouds. 

It’s after amber hours. Not black. White. 
Like sugar on ice. Two token golden pulsar
stars pump the wind like blood. 

The wind stirs my blood. Curls my hair. 
Carries dragonflies, butterflies, fireflies.
Dries worms into twigs.

The twigs crunch under my feet. 
They mark my trail like crumbs.