Thank You, Mr. Budbill

After Solstice

(for david budbill)

I’m going home to Barton
by way of Craftsbury
after hearing The Master
speak Haiku-American
for an hour or so at the
Galaxy Bookstore.
glassy Eligo, I’m thinking,
Hey, I’m pretty sure
this hill wasn’t this steep
when I came through here
before; pretty sure
this rockface wasn’t
inching down toward the road,
itching to reach out and
snag my fender last time,
was it?
…………..No matter. All hills will
be leveled, The Master says;
all rocks will finally fade away,
the same way that all sound fades
up on Cold Mountain, the way
there’s nothing but horseflies
and a high, translucent moon
to remind you you’re alive
and sitting behind the wheel,
going nowhere.

RDP Friday — Solstice

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