passing through the mountains
from out the far sable canyons
along the main and lonesome houses
by the burrows of campfire
alms and cool cattail marshes
I wrote you a note on a milepost
signed 1/2 where the x was
and my old mark on the back
faded as the fading in the
figments of hemlock and larch
behind smoky plumes of timbermen
or playground bonfires
of dusty plains parched dreams
and rain drenched letters
I wrote you a note in late october
and one day you might see it
some miles down the river beaches
in our time or in your autumn
with great grandchildren or only
an unborn friend beneath the bosom
or even never or just wandered by
while it was there all the time and I
saw you the next day miles away
and 7 years, alone in the pouring rain
at the flooded brook by the lane
like there must be a shade beneath
every leaf, every lineament of age
like there was the shadow of grace
in your face when you saw me too
when you thought you knew my name
and there will always be your friend
the one in the shade of that far tree
like there will always be the note
I wrote for you
on the post there by the east main