on our way
the corrugated metal door
briskly unrolls down to the ground
I slide the latch right
shoot the lock through the hole
and our life is stored away
we hit the road
dust in the drawers be damned
all library books accounted for except
This Is a Poem that Heals Fish –
gone the way of desperate goldfish no doubt
there’s a flurry of wet spring snow at the divide
and This American Life on the speakers
Cedar cheerfully puzzles out a dot-to-dot eel
trepidation turned to glee (at this moment)
up the rough driveway
past patchy pillows of snow
until the boys spill out
before I can set the brake
soon Cedar’s stuffy has a nest
Owen’s found a pair of pine grosbeaks
Alex is learning guitar
and I’ve found a dozen books
I left behind already here
there’s a glow on Homestake Peak
and Alex recalls we’ve already
seen this place from there
yes. I sail through the blue-white air
to the summit at the memory
one more connection
I hadn’t accounted for
