Lost
       

In the distance, a river
Like a faded line in an atlas,
But darker, given recent rain.

I know next-to-nothing,
Get by on nods and gestures,
Name things with the words I brought.

I turn back and take a new path
From some earlier point on the route.
The road bends to the left:

Dew at a web's interstices.
A stand of borage. Poppies.
The decline steeper, washed-out.

In their feints and retreats,
Dragonflies throw off glints.
From here I see the fortified wall.

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Copyright © 2015 Eric Pankey All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission