Local. Cobbs Hill.

Cobbs Hill Park & Reservoir
(fav hill to jog…most times not all the way up)

Favorite place in Rochester: park, at the very least. Too many reasons to name.

Please drive/bike/jog/walk up there someday. Counter-clockwise (if you start from the pumping station) and, clear day or not, ooh & aah as Rochester’s skyline edges into view. An island amongst 

a sea of trees. No pics of this b/c, sometimes, you just have to take mental pics. Some very special times.

So … I’m debuting my poetry. For the firrrrrssssssssst time. (Hence, “debut,”.) It’s about Cobbs Hill … mostly. Enjoy.
On the Other Side of the Bike Path


On the other side

of the bike path,

Laying in the sun.

Over where the hills

roll. Triangle sword-slices

stick to my sides.

Inch their way closer, like flies

that flit.

But I don’t mind.

I just want

to be near the sun

that bakes pots of

Clay and spots

of rose

into my face.

That lies like a blanket

to soothe away the tired.

To whisper (it’s all okay) into my breath.

The ground lies empty,

no one’s around. Not near me,

on the other side of the bike path.

The hills seem pleased


in need of not anything.

Solitary roll

isolated joy

singularly free.

And then there’s me.

Interrupting their mid-afternoon

sleep. And it should feel undone.

On the other side

of the bike path.
    . . .

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