On the trail at Split Rock it crouches
under a heart-shaped leaf,
a shelf fungus with an instinct
for up, but no wings. Its leap
hurdled it through the ostrich ferns
to land audibly in leaf litter, where,
gathered to itself again, its
pale skin stretches over trembling organs,
a dry little pudding with a
predatory watchfulness—
its toothless mouth and adhesive tongue
ready to snap at occasions.