The forest wears its history,
Natural and manmade.
Can you hear the voices?
People who built and slept in this camp.
Articles discarded
Take years to disintegrate;
On one branching of paths
There were several old shoes
In various stages of decline;
Who wore them and where did they walk?
Once amid the trees,
Wheels and handle of an old perambulator;
What babies chortled there
Before its last voyage into the woods?
Not far behind my house beside a little knoll,
There lie two car doors
From a nineteen-fifties car;
What towns did they open onto
Before being jettisoned in the caribou moss?
No comments:
Post a Comment