North and South
Like a grid—
A chessboard,
Or printed circuit
Where I move
Down toward the lake
Or up toward
The Caledon Hills,
Or slide diagonally
To you-know-where…
Our small Victorian village
Near a hundred waterfalls
And blessed
With healthy air.
Everything I want or need
Is here
Except a few
Missing pieces
That have slid
Off the board
Or been taken
By a huge invisible hand…
Still, I keep on playing
Until we draw—
A threefold repetition
So, of course,
We must go back
To our beginning
And start all over again
Intent on winning.
But the truth is
I want to lay down
My king
And go away
Never to see
The board again
And not be vexed
By rules
Of fair play
Where wooden figures
Ply their moves
With calculated rules