Words By (And For) M.L.R.*

You won’t find it
on a road sign
gravely compromising
the mystery of back roads.

In the beginning, Don and Jane
and I could send letters
between us with only “Town”
as sufficient address.

No one needed 911 numbering.
Neighbors were enough:
Come when you finish
your poem, its first draft.

I’m fine. You know the brook
is a lovely cascade
of granite pools. I can see it
from my upstairs window.

Such a calming presence.
No emergency contradicts
the view, and Biscuit is with me,
his food and water bowls full.

*. . . And For All Of Us Who Today Especially Need This Road, This Brook, This Healing Calm