old friends

there is a boomerang path to where we started.

thick duff, two bit road,

old new england granite, slate,

web of walls and moss and bright color,

all conspiring to filter the air we breathe.

we each swallow pain

at different paces,

bark crawling over the wounds.

we mark off private property,

but in lucky moments, tell a story,

share in laughter

as we straddle the artificial lines.

play with me, at the top of the hill

where the light gleams out from all things

and we see the children running to each kingdom.

hold yourself stone when your places feel hollow,

when the rains won’t come for weeks

and you don’t want them to.

some day soon it will all come down.

some day soon the well worn grooves 

will shade your smile once again.

after death, after birth,

follow the river running.

it follows the thinking of your blood.

this is the changing of the guard:

autumn’s shimmering reflection,

sky exchanging sky,

yellow, green, brown, red leaves falling,

seasonal cleaving,

hand letting go of hand.