stewart park

Early we stir in j stewart park
away from the banks of lava rock
away from the bloom of auspicuous june
here hemlocks strewn with birch tree bark.
sysiphus in the tent i like to say
to myself, rebellious in the algerian's way;
who would know the tragedy of his fate?
the cat's head? i would be shocked,
(though we all will know)
but we must talk, i said,
(he climbs back down on his web).
we will talk under the walnut boughs,
under feet, the drying amber leaves;
they crunch, but float down so assiduously,
"we will talk" you say, "under the deciduous tree,
among our hammock and tents,"
the rogue flowing underground,
the space we found at summer's expense.
as autumn grows, where it smoked it now snows,
and we must must pack, cold and slow, i believe
you will some distant september see
through the smoke and ash of past
the walnut, and you'll remember me.