Vagabond
Ten years have
come and gone
since we last
spoke. Marriages and
births alike have
taken place. Deaths,
too. Life has
been both nectar
sweet and bitter
salt, set against
a backdrop of
wondering how you
are, if you’re
well and content,
and if you
think of me
on darkling nights
when the stars
have gone silent
and the restless
moon has ceased
to strut and
fret on the
stage of night.
Tonight the cricket’s
song is especially
mournful, as if
it knows its
days are numbered.
Wherever you are,
I hope you
still find beauty
in canyons and
on rivers, like
young Everett Reuss,
that vagabond gone
missing, as surely
you went missing
from my landscape
ten years ago.
