The rural highway, mostly empty, cut
Into the stony cliff tilting over the pond
So that the few engines rolling past
Roared with echoes. It’s hard to imagine
Now that we no longer know, how quiet
The human world must have been a few
Generations ago. Across the pond, a loon
Tried to haunt the long withdrawing roars.
Nuthatches, siskins, and squirrels argued
In the gaps along the shore. I used to be
Someone I now think of as having been me.
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