Born Again

He woke up when she died,
spread out life like a map,
noted historic markers,
ghost towns, campgrounds,
trails now paved, and
ownership, ownership everywhere—
too much tamed land.
He bucked like a bronco
in his thoughts but his hands
still watered the green valley
The map showed roads like spokes
forking off to give him
a choice of horizons, a chance
to climb the high passes
for one more look.
Neighbors pretend to console him
but whisper behind their hands
as they watch him eat new fruit
from an old tree. He lets the grass
grow, explores a wilderness,
no one scolds him when he
rattles a key in the lock
at four in the morning.