Mark
I think I found it, the piece
of land my dad dreamed of buying,
surrounded by pine trees that grew high enough
to touch the clouds.
It’s pretty dark here in the woods,
looking for the stream, listening
for the trickling sound
that pulled me in as a kid.
My dad found it first shot—no bad turns
for him when it came to navigating roads—
he’d have found it blind-folded because
he had an internal compass and always
Knew where to steer, except that one icy day
when no amount of swerving worked,
the force of nature pulling the truck toward him
like two tons of death.