26 Oct 2018 poem

Soft Rain Dripped From The Trees

I love you like the walk
from Fraley Field past Rhea’s spring
to the steep banks of Pittsburg Landing.

I know you are unfamiliar with the marked trail
or how it signifies we will fight at first
in a most ungracious manner.

But I was born with walking shoes on
and solve all my questions
with hikes that chicken-scratch answers from the earth.

You will know it is love because I will gather for you
all the expended brass percussion caps and flattened lead balls
where the squirrels dig them up while burying acorns and walnuts.

These artifacts may not seem like much,
but you will learn to appreciate history
while we scour the landscape for topographical errors.

All you need do is think of the haystacks
that once dotted these clearings
and how the peach blossoms once fell from the orchard.

I love you like the mystery of the Indian mounds we shied from
as we listened intently for ghostly riverboat whistles
just before the impact of our first kiss.