Archive
07/06/10 - (2)
One Last Walk
I spend my final few a.m. hours, Here in Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin (Where I try to collaborate with independent nature, To create a closer and deeper relationship, Each time I visit this accommodating cabin), Packing up my austere estate, in several cartons, Storing them, conveniently, in the basement, Before I take off, on one last power walk Through the village's empty streets.
Though it's only 7:30, the sun's warmth is a balm. Birds harmonizing with easy breezes Invite me into their chirping intimacies. I listen for indications that I'll be missed, But the nuances of their singing refuse conclusions. Though I know they recognize me, I understand why I'm not so important to them; They're more concerned with survival than my presence — A curious, superfluous intruder in their domain.
Too soon, this lake beside me, on my left, then right, As I traverse, four times, between town and camp's gate, Before returning to my cabin, for one last glimpse, Will be lapping memory's far-bourn shores, And I'll be left with just another sigh in my throat, Realizing that the lake doesn't need me, Any more than do the birds, trees, cabin, village, The woods in the boys' camp bordering the shore, Despite my needing them, for my spirit's survival.
07/06/10 - (2)
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