Working together again, we had many
unfinished conversations, while pulling
our philosophical wagon in different directions—
like old times, but reveling in the space
we shared before us. How many years
have I kept the door closed, resenting
responsibility, all the loose ends left
for flexibility, all the sagging fences
and old equipment moaning for attention
and repairs? Each time I’d wake
to the dog’s bark, to the big boar coon
in the fruit trees, I’d jump back in,
run to catch up and join him fishing
up river, sneaking low like a soldier
behind hairy cedar trees, behind rocks
to cast to the next pool of rainbow trout
before their stampede to the churning
foam—last night, I slept like a baby.
drycrikjournal 