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.
[LAG-other-response url=”https://www.vianegativa.us/2016/08/fallen/” title=”Via Negativa: Fallen”]