I’ve heard the path runs

across a meadow to a picket fence,

beside the river, under a willow and along a stream,

over a stile and through a covered bridge.

I picked it up between rows of desks

across the hallway near a drinking fountain,

beside a lunchbox, under a stack of flashcards,

and along untied shoes, over a loose tooth and through a primer.

At the end of the day

there are still buttered beets in the fridge,

fresh fiber balls in the freezer, and

a pair of sneakers dancing near the coffee table.