I had a cocklebur stuck in my sock

I wandered down among the rocks and weeds

near the edge of the water.

The river was low.

Some pale purple asters glimmered like sequins

woven into the grasses.

I bent over to pick up a rock.

Why not?

And stuck it into my pocket.

I climbed back up to the top of the levee

and headed up the curve of the earth

tilting back away from the sun,

coursing lower,

although I couldn’t see it.

The sky was overcast,

yet still reflected in the river.

As I crossed over the bridge,

I felt an itch at my ankle.

I kept on walking,

each step a reminder

that I had stepped off

the hard and level path

before.

Finally, I bent over

and found a cocklebur stuck in my sock.

I had a cocklebur stuck in my sock.