Road Ghazal

You’ve grown used to the cold, the language, driving on the other side of the road.

You’ve grown used to the food, the drinking, mountains and ocean on either side of the road.

I don’t think of your stories, your cooking, your smile, your clothes.

I don’t think of you walking through a snowstorm in a thin coat, on the road.

Your photographs are beautiful, hanging on my wall, black and white, Keats inspired,

we were both obsessed, unsurprising you determined to be unconstrained, took to the road.

I think of the hidden folk quietly tucked away in that icy land you call home,

the huldufolk, with their magic trickery, are fading away, diminished by the progress of the road.

You needed a fresh canvas to express your thoughts, you revel in the clarity of impulse.

I wanted this for you, negative capability, know what you feel and be, free to follow any road.

I write in a form intended to curb the rambling tangents of an overwrought mind,

you don’t need parental advice but remember, there are two directions to the road.