One step into the park, and
(dog permitting) I'm alert
for 'this goes with that' -
correspondences - what else but?
He, if it's the young dog,
can stand for my lost young self.
She, if the old one,
my fellow-creature on our slow
downhill walk to the grave.
(Can't cope with both at once.)
Frost on the grass -
my silver pate.
Brokeback shallow-rooted tree -
me.
Sighing in the pine trees -
corny old correspondent breeze -
they sigh, I sigh, we all sigh.
Animal straining on the leash -
my wishfulness tugging
while my body's lagging.
Having stepped lightly down
to the lake-water's edge
imbibing its placidity,
now I must trudge
back up home.
Can I conceal my limp?
Over there's
the hill where
last Sunday we walked
to help the Park Friends
on Tree Planting Day.
They saw my limp, assigned
me to a flatter patch.
In the slender holes we dug
we inserted frail young trees,
pegged round with little mats.
Some will survive.
Can't yet intuit
correspondence for that.
Max Richards
Ruffey Lake Park
Doncaster, Melbourne
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