to lie down

the man with
the tilted grey
cap, in the woods
along the path,
bent with a stick
in his hand,
moving slowly.
there is no rush.
the rush is
over. he stops
and picks up
a stone, a branch,
a leaf, then
sets it all back
down again, as
if fragile eggs,
things that still
have a life
despite having aged
and weathered,
and now
left alone.
he seems to be
looking for a
place to lie
down too.