Placerville

Something fell behind when I left

and I have not returned to retrieve it,

have not crossed the bridge to the

other side of the river where my

dreams lived in the shadow of the canyon

beneath the ancient spruce and tangled

cottonwood. Something was lost.

I didn’t know it then, only now,

staring across the shining water

to the yellow house, still blue-gated,

with the roof my father and brother

repaired, the fence built by a friend,

the beach carved by the flood

I witnessed from the front window.

Something fell behind when I left,

my sense of belonging perhaps,

or maybe it was only the hopeful

me that now sleeps beneath the

towering trees, buried by the years

and weighed down by the strength

of time and a past locked in memories.

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