Bucolic memory

Greenfield Village

Henry Ford looms large

The length of River Rouge

Lower and Middle and Upper and Rouge River proper

Abraded by scars

Mouth cankered and scowling

Zug Island wrenched

To permanent sneer

Behind the kid gloved hand of his beloved Fairlane.

He wandered Potemkin near the end

Head an empty lot

Webbed in figure eights of snowy plaque.

We walked down the lane

From Firestone Farm

Past stubble field

Late one winter afternoon

Searching for the rope swing

In the old chestnut tree

Ordered put there perhaps

By the old man himself.

I raced twilight
Edges dissolving 

Pushed you higher and higher

Prayed you might catch a glimpse

Of the abiding light that silvers

The edge the world.