Walking slowly in the heat and dappled shade,
I arc in to the maze's heart
And sit. In this off-center center,
The festival hum is as distant
As the tree of arguing crows.
A sparrow hops, busy, nervous,
As I range back along a quarter-century.
Later, I sit for a friendly chat,
Recalling to that name on the plaque
Slow evenings' talks on the porch,
Watching the uplift of fireflies.
As I leave, the years to come gather
Like the moon below the horizon.