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Michael Bates

Soul Searching’s Right of Way


So long as this trail wends

              over hills, down dales,               

lies steeped in sunlight, babbled

              to by a passing brook—

on those grounds we spend a summer

              day, hour after hour,

until dusk comes, and with it 

              a trail lurking in the dark…

Summer nights are heavenly sent—

              when the moon beams,

lone stars cluster together.   

              In time, shadows show up,

some standing, others on the go—

              between then and dawn 

they appear everywhere, without

              crossing our path.

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