For Rick and Linda

When we drove the long hills
adrift in the eye of a storm of color
and the land rose and fell green,
how did we keep our senses,

keep locked our stumbling features,
not fall from the open sedan
foolish to the sweet earth
drunk with beauty?

Two red lines on the map meant,
with faith, we would find our place:
the intersecting fence-posts,
the broad porch on the hill.

In the dappled yard, by the arbor
stooped over a new beech
they looked up, shouted.
Each waved one free arm.