One Single Impression: Roads

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:

Happily.

One Single Impression