Village Road

Here, a village road,
darkly quiet, winds under
sunset’s opal sky,
wisps tinged turquoise green, rose,
tint the low horizon.

Here, a country lake,
old sailors dock weathered boats,
dusty cul-de-sac,
sloping west into moonlight,
circling east, breaking for dawn.

Here, I watch you trod
dementia’s well-worn paths;
footsteps forgotten,
when you trip, I help you stand,
unmire you from the ruts.

Here, a mildewed bench,
our initials carved in wood,
drop anchor, my love,
the water is so beautiful,
tie up, knot your endless loop.

Header photograph © Caroline Bardwell.