By Marian Glaser © (March, 2005)
A respite from growls, yells and sobs
is framed in golden light, numinous
like the apple orchard I’ve seen:
green grass in bright sunshine
surrounding row upon row
of short, fruit-laden trees.
The deep chasm separating
this wheelchaired present
from my walking past
makes moments more vivid.
Time spent in musing sadly,
reliving memories, is empty,
is deciding life is finished.
The orchard here, now,
is as real as the lake
holding remembered trout.