The cliff gave way and the slope shifted ground,
The oaks rode upright and possessed the road
And what had been hanging changed its abode,
And to get beyond was to go around.
I wrought a path through the resettled wood,
Through boneset and rue and fever-cure bed,
Through self-heal and balm once over my head.
The conquering landslide was down for good.
The bloodroot bloomed early and broke the snow,
And I plucked the stems without climbing high,
And I dug the roots without mounting sky.
The wild from above was as wild below.