Dave Bonta strings together a series of small glimpses, as if someone were walking through woods and noting whatever catches the eye or ear. A spiderweb on glasses, a lost dog with burs in its ears, a firefly that can't sleep, a bobcat's snarl mixed up with traffic noise. The title, "Epizoochory," is the word for seeds carried by animals, and the burs in the dog's ears hint at that idea: living things quietly hitching rides on each other.
Nothing is explained, so the poem works by accumulation. Wild and human worlds keep brushing against each other, as in the quarry road where deer bed down or the bear markings on a power pole. The speaker seems attentive and curious rather than anxious, even when the images are a little eerie, like the empty sky with a single vulture. The mood is alert, quiet, and increasingly open. The final image of ferns dancing and the words "such release" suggest the speaker has let go and fully joined the landscape.