Rear View

Retracing my default beliefs
through pastures owned by docile sheep,
bucolic byways fall and rise
just like the endless compromise.

Beyond that sandstone rectory
across a mine encrusted lea,
a mourning dove morosely wails
to herald more oblique travails.

The air is ripe with stinking life,
convictions balance on a knife;
reflection, which allays my fears
is closer than it first appears.