I walk to the gulley where mist hangs thick
like dim recollections of school days and weekends.
Through the damp thicket I breathe a bit deeper
at one with the present at once with the past
taking walks with my mother Saturday afternoons
neighborhood kids were family golden days gone too soon
and I let these things pass through my soul unobstructed
they float up to the treetops and then fade away
I wish I could hold them like stones or like flowers
and study their color and texture and shape
but like drawings on water they're only reflections
no different than dreams feelings dissipate
Yet the places that house them are more real than a dreamscape
and like totems house magic to make real what I feel
So to them I will travel like a pilgrim in worship
I will dwell in their presence I will find my soul healed