4230. DOGS CAN'T GO WHERE I FOLLOW

DOGS CAN'T GO 

WHERE I FOLLOW

Along the path that leads to the pond

I espied two names  -  the grown bark

of a forty-year-old tree held them :

Mike & Renna '82. A long time

back by now. Still the growth, both

constant and steady, having stretched

the fat and bulbous names, preserved

forever some old and fateful moment,

remembered by someone, or more, 

or maybe not at all.

-

The path bends around a few rocks,

and I follow. I'd bet the rocks themselves,

boulders actually, have been in place

some thousand years or more  -  

signifying nothing, remembering less?

A Mike & Renna of some more vast age?

When promises were made of stone,

and 'forever' was all the rage? 

No, no, I'll never know - where

I follow, dogs can't go.