Glen Falls Trail
I climb the limestone stairs
through an arch in rock,
into the earth's womb,
pass through to a surprise:
"George loves Lisa'
painted on a wall.
I wonder, did he ever tell her?
Did she ever know or think of him,
raise a brood of screaming children?
Did they kiss near wild ginger
above the stony apse?
Did lady's slipper orchids
adorn their meeting place
where deer drink
from rocky cisterns?
Did their love wither
like maidenhair fern,
delicate as English Lace?
The symbols have outlived the moment.
There is only today,
only the murmur of water underground,
my finding one trickle into a pool.
I never knew this, George or Lisa.
The rock bears their names in silence,
the stream forgot long ago.
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