Keeping Council

This is time on the trail I have not
been or had

behind me, or in front of me,
for that matter.

I’m by the little canal
opened wide

so farmers
can water

in the high
heat.

I have wanted to write
It’s moving past

its appearing
its disappearing.

I’ve crossed it
out now

although/so
I cannot

climb that hill
with the little cemetery

and not stop
to see who died

and when
or who was beloved

and who
wasn’t.

This is how I live
up here and others

simply do otherwise.
Or maybe

I do too—maybe
I strive

to surrender
under the weight

of where I walk
everyday.