The Old Road

by Christopher Raley

 

Its the old road

through the old forest.

The old lake’s thin

blue line stretches

long on the right.

The hill rises

hard on the left,

and pine needles

carpet the ground

to the same old fork

in the same old road.

 

It would ease

the recurrence

of this passage if

I knew you waited where

the drought stricken pine

bares the nails of all

the hand painted signs,

if I knew you pointed

to this one or that one

and smiled your easy smile.

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