Forager

I have
a secret
desire
to forage,

to spend
long hours
absorbed
by the hunt.

Searching,
through spray
of stream,

under
plump
drops

from
branches above.

To find that
knowledge
held in
the palms
of ancestors

and
buried in
trunks
of elder pine 

would be
to forage
on the least
likely, but
only proven path.

Please,
don’t tell
my colleagues
or my bosses.

I won’t even tell
Google search.

Only run it
through
the processor
of my mind,

this secret
desire to
return

to the land.