pequot memories

The mulch along the path left me longing
for the places without footprints and maps
where mothers tell their children,
'Come back here, honey, it's not safe over there.'

When an acorn swoosh-tip-chk-chk-chk-ing down
and round the way, saw how we got lost
believing in here and now
this place the black bears avoid
and the moose forgot.

The geranium reminds me of an old hymn
and my soul, graceful, even as I fall.

I would sing it, but
I don't want you to join me.

I'm glad when you say nothing,
because you never understand
how my feet just want to walk away.