Tombstones line the mountain’s face
Like rows of planted pines
A temporary sense of permanence
We like to think unmoved by time
But trees and tombstones topple
Lakes and lochs they rise and fall
And we will pass more quickly
Though we pretend to outlive all
Like catching newts and holding them
We let life crawl between our hands
But soon we choose a kind release
A child returning life back to the land
So pull me near as night descends
A family around the fire
Let’s eat and drink and whisper sweet
Before these wondrous days expire
— April Resnick
Locust Lake State Park, by Adam Resnick
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