The view from here

Alas, I am always
looking back—

A scent, a tree-
lined lane;

the way stones
are laid next

to each other
or wrap around

the rain-slicked porch
or chimney—

The shape of hills
at sundown,

the yellow of a sun-
flower bending

beneath its own weight—
I move about

in this other world now
but something in me

grows more quiet
through the years:

I am most restless
rooting in place.


In response to Via Negativa: Fallen.

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