that sliver of untrimmed trees
and bloated bushes splitting
the Johnson and Mistretta yards
it held a path generations of little feet
had worn when I entered it one day
my favorite tunnel of green and shadowed
secrets the lives lived in rabbit holes
sometimes the notes of a fox mixed
with the smell of some creature’s fear
or deer prints of one singly unnerved
or a family hidden from a bright
and dangerous world
also broken beer bottles candy
wrappers a featherless arrow
two golf balls and there today
wedged in a broken branch
partly covered by leaves
yesterday’s missing foul ball
squinting I stumbled through a shrub
moved quickly to his window and with
the exciting news held in my hand
knocked
remembering this very minute
this was the one and only time
I entered any friend’s house
through the back door