Sometimes lost

Not knowing I'm lost within
the familiar terrain; masks look the same.
Heels clip on brick paths winding through trees;
the wisteria's nostalgic spice,
sweetly lingering upon the soft air,
brings an intermittent twitter.

The magnolia's habit
- Atlas of trees -
bearing the weight of eternity,
its low-slung branches thickened;
waxy palms flared to shore up fallen hopes.

The green swath flows around me.
One moment a miracle of delight;
the next of nausea.
The wrought iron bench too hard
and cold to endure.
Makes me wonder where
I was just before - and I want to run,
but I don't know where.

So much to contend with
as the gravity of time
pulls flesh from the bone
and scatters it across the ground.
So much to contend with
as children grow to look like us -
our sins becoming theirs.

How I got here
I know well enough -
it's the view ahead that shakes me;
a long cold finger beckoning.
The journey in between strewn with nettles -
the one just after,
impending.


2003 MJS