by Bill Keller
I can’t get lost — this trail runs straight.
I go a few miles out and back.
No intersections, choosing routes,
just the Yes of gravel underfoot.
I sometimes dream another way,
scrambling up on open rock,
no rut to mark the path, no map
to a breathless view.
The hills below roll like the sea and
a tilting barn could be a raft
that barely tops the waves but still
takes me where I’ve never been….
I think I can’t pick up the thread,
then spot my tiny car, nose in,
along the crushed-stone avenue
I’ll walk again, again, and again.