Lost Imaginings

Photo by Julia Volk

As I walked through the frost-covered hills at dawn
I was you, and you, in your dreams, were me.
Only the veil of a lifetime tried to keep us from meeting …

Shadows of a truth prevailed:
the formless secret moved, and vague forms—we—
we embraced the heart-shaped clues.

 And there, not on grey-breasted hills,
we met, and danced the briefest dance
before shades of a vision quieted our feet.

 But we did dance.
And the still pool I passed
still reflects lost imaginings.

This poem was first published in April of 1976, along with three others of mine, in Vol. 10, Issue 13 of a magazine called either The Seneca or The Senca. I can’t find evidence online of what I noted but it’s legit as I have the actual page cut out. Anyway, now that I’m back from summer boating and in the wake of quite a few rejections, I thought I’d post some of these older poems. It’s always interesting rediscovering one’s poetic first steps. And I like to think that my time away from the internet (because of remote anchorages) enhances my “inner net” though I am thankful this method of communication is available again. Happy Fall to you all!

Your Turn

Photo by Tim Golder on Unsplash

She was lost and late and frantic
when she pulled over to ask me
for directions. And so close!
A block the other way lay her destination.
Discouraged, she had turned off too soon.

Sometimes it happens that way.
And sometimes the road simply ends
and you know you’ve missed
the turn. But when it’s late
in life, and it’s your turn that
you’ve avoided or can’t find,
when it’s your appointment
with fate you think you’ve missed,
or when the path you’re on turns
out to really be someone else’s, say,
who lives there, in that neighbourhood,
who could help you?

None better than the yardless dog
at your heels, growing wilder,
more wolflike by the second,
those nips of dissatisfaction
ripping your good pants,
the barks of disapproval
stilling the nice hand
that would have fed it,
the sickening plunge of your stomach
as you realize this is all wrong,
making you run now, run for the life
you meant to live.

This too first appeared in North Shore Magazine.