Between

by Richard Stoltzfoos

For those who, fingering the rings in their pocket,
find it hard to enjoy the guinea pigs

I thank Thee for each quiet place between,
That place untouched by voice or phone or town,
A wood between the worlds, where dreams each scene,
Where waking find we Thee, and gladly drown.
That space to rest the body and the mind,
Moreover for that space to calm the heart,
I search, and often in my search I find
The wood between to be this horseless cart.
These journeys keep us young. Come, hurtle round
The stars some years light speed; return at last:
While not aboard, our friends on earth have found
More birthdays than have we, and having passed
That journey, we will be, not only seem,
Much younger than our fellows from the dream.

Richard Stoltzfoos is the son of Adin,
son of Wilmer,
son of Elam,
son of Moses,
son of Samuel,
son of John,
son of Christian,
son of Nicholas Stoltzfus,
who in the year 1766 emigrated from Europe,
being born of Christian Gottlieb Stoltzfus,
of the Saxon line of that name
which began in the year of our Lord 400,
by the provision of God, in German Saxony.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy