While walking down Water Row
I kept my eyes fixed on the seam
that divides a road from river
and field, this line that runs the
length of our dreams, that will
carry you home or far away, that
stitches the feet to body and soul,
and makes the world all of a piece,
the world of men, the world beyond,
into a garment that fits me well,
and clothes me as I travel between,
trying to stay where I belong, though
drawn to the dark of distant trees,
then to the frightening marsh nearby,
Are those deer that are browsing across
the field? Are those hawks that are
perching above my head?
I squint, I
gaze, I look around. Walking on,
my feet hold fast to the unwound line.

November 29, 2006


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter