I can be forgiven

In the spring poison grows under trees,
and takes many shapes,
imitating a vine,
or hiding in ground cover.

It can mimic the thorny raspberry,
or an adolescent oak.
It’s a joker; it’s a thief,
in three words – all things human.

Do not venture into the forests of the Ardennes,
after a long winter has erupted
into poison,
blood still colors creeks from the fields
where starving children foraged for trinkets from dead soldiers,
to sell for food.

Footprints I expect to find and I can be forgiven.

To Anthony Bourdain.