All that I gather
in this invisible basket
woven together with strips
of birch and beams
of lower light:

My gently placed shadow
as I move past a baby’s shoe
abandoned on the ground.

Shouts (not barks)
of a dog in the distance
and the shady side of a trail
that leads into the woods—
the one not taken this morning.

Covered with the shush
of my breathing as I approach
the lake. Where is the shallow

end? The shoreline?

Is this one a she? No question
about the sun-smacked, shimmering
surface, or how she (take a chance)
and her sisters became shape
shifters during a stormy summer.

Waves (not handshakes) I collect
from other runners
and the shelter of one of my favorite

tree canopies

above the trail just beyond
the water’s edge. The shine
of a tiny red squirrel and the shock
of seeing a young buck stand still
on freight train tracks

before he slips into the thicket.
The secret power of unfolding
a good-bye and brilliance to come.