The Road to the Corner

The Road To the Corner.
　

I remember the road to the corner,
First road out
If ever
I was going to leave.

I walked it whenever
I needed
Air, darkness and solitude

　
Down to the brook,
Then up the rise by the pasture gate
Along the flats edged with raspberries,
Past the butternut tree,
And sweeping view of the valley
To the main road,
To the world beyond
Where I would turn,
Not ready yet
For the longer journey

　
On nights, loud with spring peepers
Moonlit nights of brilliant snow and smoke-breath cold,
Or warm windy October nights, rustling with dried leaves
I would walk it alone

　
Sometimes
Needing more space and time
I would leave the gravel
For dew-wet grass
To sit on a bale of hay,
Or fence rail,
Listening to chimney swifts and crickets
Cupping a firefly briefly in my hand
Wishing for that simple past
Of early childhood
Already missed and mourned
From the awkward
Desert island of adolescence

　
Sometimes
Throwing back my head
Pouring out ballads
To the distant stars
Because no one
Was listening to my song
in this remote place.

　
Yearning ahead
To love,
Acceptance
Comfort within my own skin
Promised
By worried, wise parents

　
Both past and future
On that lonely road,
Felt inaccessible as the moon
And close as the breath of a breeze
Against my cheek
As they still do.
They still do.