Prior Lake

we used to own this land
he tells me
drawing his fingers
slowly through the grooves
on the trunk of the elm.
he touches every tree we pass
weaving our way
through the oaks
his right hand dragging behind
bits of bark
embedding in his palm.

we follow the
path to the pond
reeds rising on either side
of the track
yellow and brown
shadows shooting across
the scum covered water.
his feet remember
the way. mine try
and pretend that
we didn’t forget.