remember, or forget

that doesn’t love a trail. . .

something there is that doesn’t love a trail,
that knocks trees down over it,
fills it with leaves and branches,
blocks the passage over it,
as if the Earth herself wants to heal the scar,
to forget the path ever was,

on the surface I miss a path abandoned,
deep down I fear how easy it is to forget.

by Henry Walker
November 25, ’10