What was a trolley track
Is a cinder path
A walkway
A straight and rigid line
Melting into the curves
That are the destiny
Of this landscape

Driving to work,
I often see a fox on that path
Coy, not furtive, in the dawn light
And the geese
Like feathered lords
Of the landscape
And deer
Stopping, strangely,

On that cinder path

The birds and squirrels
Of course

The warm touch
Of their bodies
Presses the road

Into memory

Before the high-stepping
Power walkers
Bear down on this bit of history
As if it were their birthright.

But those who were first up
Know the story
And how it will end.

It will: