Forest of Fontainebleau

A walking stick
In this deep forest,
Thumbs along the earth.
This fallen tree beside you;
Wide enough to wrap your arms around
And not reach halfway.
Perhaps you will,
When the picture-taker has closed his eyes
To rest,
Reach around and hold;
Drag your legs to climb
Over; your heart feeling its
Beats against the wood.
Let the cane fall,
To roll and lie still
Beside a jagged cut friend.
You need this too;
In this deep forest,
Where you walk
With no one else near.