later they asked

did you walk down the road

to see the moon rising orange over the swampy grass

to hear the bull frogs croaking among the bearded trees

to breathe the salty musk of the falling night

I replied

no, I needed something somewhere

but those things too I did

and so he found me there alone, lost in the experience of it all

I have never remembered

where I meant to go or what I needed

the sun shines enough to warm the sidewalks

happy-looking people on Main fill their eyes with history

noise from lazy weekend traffic drifts through the back door

barking squirrels jump back and forth from branch and fence

woodpeckers beat their loud rthym against wooden utility poles

all so familiar, almost enough

to lull me into a sense of ordinary complacency

underneath, the faultlines shift with almost perceptible rumble

and I cannot forget

that all of this ground is hollow and riddled with caves

time does not wait.

you do not open the the door

to find it crouched on the step,

patiently gazing up at you

with soft expectant eyes,

as if to say,

here now, if you are ready.

you do not turn the corner

to chance upon it leaning on the wall,

insouciantly lifting a hand

with casual cheerful mien,

oh there you are, let us visit.

if it pleases, if it helps,

picture these gentle regards.

but truly, if you dare to remember,

time does not care.

what do you want?

you can have the sky,

washed in early morning

by pale sun.

you can have the ground,

bejeweled in cold hours

by glittering frost.

you can have the song,

offered in shadowy spaces

by calling doves.

all require a fee,

one quite marked in these times:

you must pay attention.

never a place

not shelter built with brick or wood

not land passed down through time

not candlesticks carried in hurried flight

never these, though closer

not the one who loved in childhood

not the one who did not

not teachers encountered through many years

not community gathered round

closer still but not even these

a fragment of song, halt in aged voice

a sip of tea, earthy depth with each cup

a scent of salt, overlay to morning fog

and the wrinkles of a beloved hand

to those who rhapsodize about peace

found in nature, and harmony in birdsong

and other lovely things.

I invite you to walk with my dog.

she does not stare at squirrels with warm friendship,

nor at groundhogs or foxes;

they in turn do not invite her to play

or even remain in close proximity when we walk.

they know; she knows; I know that they are prey,

and she would kill any, had she the chance.

birds sing, true, but also squawk,

and not for our enjoyment, remember.

they want mates; they sound warnings over territory;

they signal their health (but this returns to mating).

walking in fields involves dirt, muck, and mud;

with each step, you crush some insect or plant.

find your peace, enjoy your harmony, but do not forget

that these are things that you impose,

imaginary as rainbows in the sky.

she showed no remorse, only regret

to have been found out, caught in misdeed

she arched towards me in pretend contrition

her eyes gave the lie, shining with pride

I knew that inside she was laughing

love forgives much, and so for those eyes,

what could I do but laugh myself