Tamalpais

Memories pad in on siamese feet
That heralded the arrival of ghastly heirs

And oh, the mountain that sits on my shoulder, fog shrouded and majestic
It reigns in a land pubescent and past
Verdant and static and rolling with the silent thunder of trees and brined air

This is not a poem of regret

The fortune found by leaving this Cannan
Is a history made in bright shadows
I have served well my monarch of memory

And so blessed I return
As blessed I took leave

This is not a poem of homecoming

Passing through, the new seems as ghost
And that which is now the missing is what seems tangible

And to my lips springs a tune of cobblers
And to my nose the smells of golden wet dog and brown shingled mornings in grey wet light

This is not a poem of remembrance

I know if I were to touch this place
Through this glass that spares me its chill
This exile would prove to be of my making
The mountain always forgives
And welcomes its princes home
In glory or in failure, the fog embraces all

But I keep my seat in passing
And instead a smile in quiet acceptance

For this is not a poem of futures
But an ode to gracious present