Gladstone

Maybe I feel safe enough to say Gladstone. 

Bright shining stone, north of Escanaba 

where I walked the shore of the Great Lake,

heard gray jay, black-backed woodpecker, common loon, 

and watched myself disappear from view.

I croon beyond those days. I read. I walk 

beside the perfect lake. Spring here. 

Another year. Black-capped Chickadee. 

Snowy owl. Next week I'll reach a milestone age 

here in the desert. Take my chances at 

another youth. Visit the arboretum 

of agave, succulents, eucalypti.  

Behave as the birds behave. Listen

to the earth endure the film of wind.

Speak toward moisture beneath the shade,

remember rhyming rush of the Lake.