February 23, 2001

  • I often run through a wooded forest in northern Ohio where solely a footpath makes a two mile circuit. Never is there company along with me and almost never anyone else encountered during my excursions. Yet many signs and remnants of profound companionship abound etched as paired initials into trees, etched as treed testimonies of love. As I run, I take notice and feel somewhat awash in these hints of romance and in these entanglements portrayed. Strangely enough none seem recent-all the wounds are well-healed. Seems the trees no longer serve as totem posts of affection.

    So this:

    A long time's now passed
    for the lovers unwatched
    who carved hearts into trees:
    such moments of delight
    in inscribing nothings to each other!

    To have strolled and played
    and taken only such from these
    unprotesting spires--no more--
    than for to leave their enchanted vows
    disturbed not the Great Mother.

    An age ago on a tree with smooth bark
    one boy recorded
    "here I loved Val…a great fuck forever!",
    etching also an arrow
    pointing suggestively down
    to the soft ground below.

    As I ponder, I imagine:
    There she lies even now!
    beckoning to me with unfading smile
    to provide her with company
    and fulfill the long-gone boy's dreams
    of living forever!


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