Short Walks

I don't know where
I pretend to be going,
following the lines
of deep mowed grass
in the re-claimed meadow,

following the edges of the
remnants of woods behind
town houses and calling them
copses, making photographs
that render them whole and rich,

fools' photographs.
I don't go far from home. My visions
make my walk around the
skirts of the neighborhood longer.
I imagine hard trails
and far away.