The land heaves to meet the sky
An arch of sandstone and limestone
Washed away by a quarter billion years’ rain
Among the scarred hilltops and ridged remnants
In a green valley in the wilds of Penn’s Woods
I sense the transience of my position
Where I come from I was certain
Of many things which are just as untrue
The words, clinging to the heels of my feet as I tread Iowa Avenue’s sidewalk
As you breathe, there, you feel them
Words pass through the membrane of your lungs
Dissolve in the blood and cross a barrier to saturate your being
Breathing here, the oxygen is the same
Knowledge and wisdom flow through the valley
But I miss the words