INTO THE HEMLOCK FOREST
KEITH TAYLOR
We walk down the trail at the edge
of Carp Creek, almost to its mouth,
then wade across.
The bottom is sandy, comfortable,
nothing to worry about, and the water
cold against our calves.
When we rise up from the creek, we are
among the hemlocks under a thick canopy
that keeps the forest floor almost bare.
The place is dark, quiet, cool—
church or crypt or cave.
We are quiet here
and think we might stay a while.