(for Roslyn and Elana) Fox Trail winds up into the sky Curving in the way that feet Take altitude. Here and there, Sedgegrass spikes set darker strokes On the canvas leading into air. Stepping into empty green We find the close view intricate: Quartz-veined stones, lacquered leaves. Enameled flowers star the field, Buttercup, blue-eyed grass. What's not framed here is at our backs: Twenty years of letters, talk, Two knotted strings of love and work; The baby in your backpack blowing Raspberries; oranges, ham and chicken Sandwiches in mine. A slow climb Takes us out of van Eyck's view, Past landscape oils to headland where Wind and gull scream wash the world To backlit, moving watercolor.