On the Pennsylvania Turnpike
One
wish
we feel,
even as
another resists,
is to let the memories go,
ashes emptied in a fast-flowing brook that tumbles
toward we know not what river. After the next crest, where the cut in archaic rock
has left layers of past exposed, we would descend with
newly unimpeded feeling
for the now and the
to be, green
trees on
all
hills.
