And then there was the walking
on Circuit Road, our labyrinth.
We walked it most every day.
With the babies, without babies.
With the puppy, without the puppy.
With music, without music.
with conversation, without conversation.
Past the odd shaped houses with porches.
Past the cranberry bog.
Past sandy beach.
Past the marsh.
Past the sailboat with a wreath on its bow.
Each turn, a different view from home:
New York, Needham, San Francisco,
Davis, and Norfolk.
Each turn, varied light,
shadows.
Our bodies turning
inward,
always clinging to the side of the road.