A Poem for the Way Home


by Wesley McNair

Past where the last
gang of signs

comes out of the dark
to wave you back

and past telephone
wires lengthening

with the light of someone
beyond the next hill

just returning,
a slow single line

will take the eye
of your high beam. Around you

will be jewels
of the fox-watch.

Great trees will rise up
to see you passing by

all by yourself,
riding on light.


Poem from The New Criterion site. Image from So Divine magazine. Happy Thanksgiving weekend, friends. And thanks for reading. -PMc←