- Vol. 10
- Chapter 12
Image by Marc Schlossman
The leaving and the left
so much water over the dam
so much under the bridge
we make our leafy way from year
to year sprout soft then brittle
into gold before we leap
this day, for instance, the road
snakes us through the fog’s grey
breath and the mountains still
summer green from heavy rains
hesitate into October’s arms
our sighs count the highway’s
galloping stripes mile markers
and minutes clock themselves
against our odometers our watches
long ago you read me Pound’s poem
about the young wife’s longing
for her love’s return.
"By the gate now, the moss is grown"
we’ve grown older too
The leaving and the left
the path leads us into the hilly
future, leaving what’s past behind
blue and weightless.