After rain in the woods, red newts
scramble from matted leaves and rotting
logs, beacon for a boy focused on
anything that moves.  He scoops each
into a plastic bucket, counts twenty
wriggling bodies, notes distinguishing
traits -- white dot, fat legs, pale head.
By turns tender and rough, he holds
a favored one, reluctant to return
it to the wet dark, boundless
as anything he’s felt.  He will learn
that this world of wind creaks
and tree groans, fur and husk
will not be owned beyond
the lure of its wild singing.

From Odd Mercy (Headmistress Press, 2016).
Used here with the author’s permission.