We each have a topography
that defines us and therefore suits us.
Mine is the shale covered hills
of northeast Ohio. Delicate woods.
Deciduous trees. Fallow fields.
Mud and rising creek beds.
Country homes one hundred feet or more
from the road lined with roughly cut wood fences.
The space expansive.
In town, Rockefeller mansions,
yards sloping down from house to street,
tree lawns interjected with oaks and maples.
Front porches. Wide streets.
Air that dries your skin to cracking in winter
and soaks your clothes in lazying summer heat.
Puddles of storm water and oil.
A feel. A sound. A look.
All else I measure by these things.