On Thursday
at the edge of the field
where I watched long
as I have always done
with the land in me
more than I in it,
At the edge of the field under snow
and glittering shards of a frozen pond,
the distance captured
in an eddy of snow
what soul I had,
took it over the rough
and lost it.
I did not die
because I had rather not leave
this beautiful world.
But perhaps I had
and the shell watching
at the edge of the field
is but a memory
that would not be forgotten.
~ Wayne Schlepp
