Hoofprints

By Amy Wright Vollmar

Deer strike through brush
beneath green briars,

cross fallen boughs
without trying

to rearrange
the forest’s stones

or trim the grapevines
to their will,

but still
they know just how

to bind the prairie
to the creek,

twist the bluestem
into sumac.

These are the ways
of the white-tailed deer,

who show me how
to shape my path

along this cold, bright
bank of day.

_________________________

Come Back

By Amy Wright Vollmar

The waterfall
waits for thunder
under dry

hackberry leaves—
small roots spiral
through the bank,

cast a net
across blue chert
to catch the first

drops in a month—
the sedge wren
darts from her hollow

between the walnut’s
anchor-roots,
stirs dry twigs

and heron-chalk
with hopeful claws—
the first drops

in two long moons
prickle
the leaf-tines—

this is the way
waterfalls,
when they have gone,

return.

_________________________

Amy Wright Vollmar grew up in southern Illinois, and now lives with her family near Springfield, Missouri, where she can often be found straying through the woods. She writes poetry in a muddy notebook that has a drawing of a Bigfoot on the cover, so that other hikers will imagine she is making useful observations. Her first book of poetry, Follow, was published by Cornerpost Press in 2020. She is happy to be a nature poet of the Ozarks!