The way that hugged the knobs and wood
and threaded through emerald shade
led from home and back. A church
the road’s start (or end) conveyed.

A smear of years–I return and search
for the landmark but find a scorch
of straight lanes through treeless land–
a highway, no curves, no church.

Unrecognizeable heartland
is not the winding way I planned.
I am not lost, but a little afraid–
I know where I’m going but not where I am.

(A rubaiyat after Frost)