Old fingers wrinkled soft
slide over creases, faded folds
in morning south light of breakfast nook.
Where feet and bones no longer travel
weary, eye searches circuitry of roads.
Stumbles over gray-haired swampland
blue image of river, stream,
small lakes where a love was resealed.
Avenues, interstate route numbers
an attraction to the place,
its reflection in name.
Of what was and where it moved over
to blending of triangles of field, forest –
where we are is a distant place
yearning will never satisfy to find.
Eroded, disfigured, revamped, renamed
the earth has erased your isolate trail.
Now there are only phantom landmarks
passed down in fading glimpse.
Your grandchildren will never know
magenta light of morning beneath that pine,
scorching of that sun lost forever
in peach blossom of a wild rose.