the black path that turned red
cold but fearless
the toboggan sped down the black path
until it hit a stone and spat us out
from the bus stop down to station road
straight as a die it walked the workmen
there and back again
and took us off on adventures
to there and maybe
either side poor grass existed
under the tips that existed
always since
alight at the bottom
and there was the culvert that ran
long under the station
dripping with the white stalactites
of our daring dripping staring
for the other side of did
one night
the black path turned red
ochre cinders injected a surprise
that permanence could demise
that snow melts
and we leave no footprints
on our many merry ways
other than the can
that we kick down memory lane
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