the rolling hills, the curvature
of life. that he loves best of all,
before the autumn shows itself
in full, and every leaf
makes travel plans.
what is this
innocence, expansive
as the feeling in his heart:
the joy that seems connected to
this place and season and this day,
that sends regrets to find their
own address. and which may be
a sign of something more;
a harbinger of truth,
a sacred song,
a type
of violin, that’s
heard above the roar
of all the cars, thoughtless
with radios and sports and those
who have the chance to see and feel,
but don’t. a chance, a happening,
a sight that’s truly seen, is
not forgotten, like a love
that’s truly felt, and
and just as truly
curved