Old stones
line the walk
to my front door,
keeping my path straight
and free from the grasses
that otherwise surround me,
grasses that hide
many fangs and eyes
and through which the fool
and never the wise
goes wandering.
Upon inspection,
near my front door,
I noticed something
I’d not seen before,
a pile of stones,
a fallen mass,
beneath which grew
a blade of grass.
I froze,
noting the breach
of grass onto the path
where no green thing grows;
for the first time I confronted
my future, the moment piercing
like a sword, hardly blunted
by the unknowable time
between then and now,
a feeble shield
that will one day fail
and yield a path,
indistinguishable
from the wild grass,
as each guiding stone
that once led me home
will lie in the dust,
unseen and unknown.
