To Mother - From The Road

April 11, 1976
Seattle to the Grand Canyon by Bicycle

Today my eyes sting warmly from the sun,
And all about I look to cliff and hill.
My many thoughts have rolled into just one,
The memory of you, so very still.

The road is long and weary in the day,
I wish for quiet places I might hide.
Sometimes a tree will beckon me to stay,
But always in the morning I must ride.

Today, beneath the juniper I lie,
to write my humble love into a song,
and wonder what you do for us, and why.
Your gentle patience never turned a wrong.

I like to go away on journeys thus,
to breath and see the newness of the earth.
But always as I look into the dusk,
I ponder heavily my place of birth.

And one who I know lovingly you bore,
you sang and taught with joy so plain to see.
Played games and laughed the gaiety you wore,
that person, I am sure, is almost me.

So when the evening comes to end the day,
I look towards myriads of stars above,
and reaching out to them my soul will pray,
To bless my mother with a world of love.

Given again, 36 years later, and still almost me....

Later, on the Train

Later, on the Train

Click clicking, thump hooting, chug northward between stations
brief glimpses, blurred houses, riverponds, rolling past.
Neat sequence, clouds lifting, oh so slightly, over marshes
New maple, all fancy, all broadleaf, all May Day

The world, my friend, spreads inspired from a train,
the hum rolling forward into a good future.
Some destination where loved ones wait there at another station
Sweet anticipation, and still the trees, sky, light on water.

The seat shifts backward, only a twist of the toggle -
way back, twice as far as an airplane seat would.
No security xray, foregone shoes, invasion of gear.
We passengers stride boldly past chugging engines, to find our car.

Train, train, I wanted you since childhood,
gazed longingly down your tracks and wished to climb those steps aboard.
Six years old , I could not know this luxury,
To buy my fare while sitting in my office chair.

Ah, there, slides by, a small house with
the porch light on, an answer against this gloaming.
So recently a rain, over spring's thick greenness, muddy land,
everything newly wet,  porch light illuminating apple trees in bloom.

Passengers, we share this car, this brief ride North
Out of the window train thoughts I hear:
One stray cell  conversation closed with:
 "I ain't forgot aboutcha love."