Easier
To shuffle mile
After mile
Eyes to ground
Or cast ahead but
Slightly down perhaps.
Not because
You'll miss the rain
Beading glassy on the small
Fruit of the tree
Behind the house.
Not because
You won't be burdened
With gray or darker gray
Or night.
After all, you might just catch
The rain
or sky
Reflected in a muddy pond
or broken window pane.
No, you may decide
To hide your brow
Beneath
The same blue hood
You wore when last you came.
Because you might
Be stranded at the bus
With just the eyes
Of an old love
And not recall her
Name.
EJR
