Path

RETREADING the paths I knew at my morning
With those I loved and those I mourn
I walked the lake with ice-bound birds
And made my camps among the trees
And hid behind the solid trunks
Of the silent standing figures who
Cannot speak but who recall
And given voice could tell the tales
And myths of us and them and us
And now my daughter holds my hand and hops
From foot to foot a joyous prattle
Who has no care for Mama’s dawn
Or wistful long rememberings
When her own sun is newly born
But we still walk the deep-grooved trails
Our feet fit into long-gone prints
The air is coloured by our breath
And through the trees which knew me once
When all of us were young and green
A shadow of my former self waves
Catching sight and hailing me
And is that mine the bell of laughter or
Homophony of all our pasts
Which chimes with now and soon and when
A welcome-hymn to this fresh child
Whose fingers curl around my own?