Untitled (Revelation from the Last Seat of a Bus Bound from Pittsfield to New York City)

You, searching for zones of light through the trees,
It is June now.
You can surrender last winter’s ardor, and
Let the road race beneath you.
Remember you rode this way without fear in your heart,
Looking for the flat open plains of lakes,
The familiar emblems of geese,
Reading your book, dreaming stiffnecked –
All the while approaching the time,
The place for forgetting.