I dreamed of you and your footpath,
dizzying greens even in winter,
so many times that when, finally,
I was in your not-so-secret realm I
knew your persistent summoning
succeeded. I brought visitors,
often hungover, but sure enough
of step to not plummet to the creek.
Sam, a friend from my urban past,
said you looked like a screen-
saver. I never swam in your pool
on a hot summer day and now that
your parking lot is a crap shoot and
thieves'-dream I wonder if I will.
Did you feel me New Year's Day?
We didn't make it very far,
you protected yourself
from the less serious of us
with a slick carpet of snow.
I wanted to share you again,
now with my love, but maybe
you were angry that I
hadn't said hello since the
advent of smartphones and I
never remembered your name,
or called you Wahkeena, your
kin up the road. Theresa wants to
get crampons to reach you this
winter, we'll see if that happens,
but please know that I miss you.