At Rest
following a line
of leaves
down a dusty lane
that turns around
the shoulder
and opens
at the bend
meadowland
like waves of wheat
that wash
against the sand
erasing all the steps
that trod
in puddles over time
wild are the flowers
that broke open
up the hill
setting in the sun
folding under moons
no one sees
the petals drop
then the wind
TL