I never see the whole expanse
I see the frill and friction at the edges
One spot where the tussle of
Brown clumps of earth give way to woody stems
Of Queen Anne’s Lace and other lost species

They quiet me, the same way I felt when
You sat on my lap and told me to breath with you
Everything is going to be all right

I was briefly torn from my path, my patch,
I couldn’t get enough air and everything was too fast

Yesterday I saw a small path through the snow, left by a mouse
It was not meandering, but straight, purposeful
Perhaps he was panicked, and perhaps he was calm
There’s no telling from his small history in snow

But I will call him calm – chilly, but headed home
To a tiny ball of hay and curls of paper
Underneath the old shed we
Keep meaning to tear down someday.

They would laugh if someone could see my path through the snow

Maybe straight to the birdfeeder, then loop to the light near the
Back door, around the garage and a long curve to the mailbox.
A stop in the middle to inspect an empty walnut shell, squirrel.

Tranquility is past, and future, I guess, but forever
Panicked life is happening right now, here.