Every visit to the Porongurups
Is like my first visit
As if I’ve never been here before
Other than generations ago
The winds of time steady
In the tree tops
The moon rising full in the east
The planks on the decking still missing
Making love
until Joy falls into such a deep slumber
I’d think her dead
But for the snoring
All consistent with our long late drive
Down the very highway
On which her father died
His body identified at the morgue
His shoes still standing in the closet
His children filling them as best they can
His vision seen out the cabin windows
Green and eternal
And on walls partially spackled
and needing paint
When into the silent sacred morning
We hike the Devil’s Slide
Preserving his memory and our memory
Fostering the sacred
Loving one another.
Even more.