Somehow I’ve always planned to visit you
in whatever is your off season, to wander
your back ways and appreciate sea level,
where I have lingered but never lived.

I used to keep fresh beans around
and grind them on demand.
But not for me: I’m bigger on tea.

Here, parked with the hard cider:
a can and a bottle of pre-made brew,
cold pour and so on. What was I
thinking in late summer?
Dreaming of guests who never came.

Smooth curves, elegant grain
where bark has peeled away,
to be sawn into perfect lengths.
I know what I intend for all of you.