AT CONCORD

At Concord,
a beautiful friendly
downtown,vulnerable
to quiet,effusive souls
knowing the value
of independent knowledge
as birds rise over the bridge
toward their spring arrival
and on the marsh grass
at this Patriot's Day
near a streaming boat
a runaway poet
on a silent towel
in a soft walk
waits by tall moments
engraved by monuments
hears a calling of Thoreau
becomes alive,
as your spirit words
in transcendence survives
another calm walk,
now reading Emerson
feels a self reliance of sort,
gnawing at my conscience
by the thickets grazing me
while eating strawberries
at a farm court
that we bought
near a family memory
of Louisa Alcott.