The landscape reminds us.

On a low Long Island,

A hilly moraine east to west

.

It inched forward, inched back,

Melted and evaporated in slow recession,

Leaving marks

Beaches, cobbles, clay, and sand.

 

In the North Country

Rounded mountains and gravel deposits

It scraped, scoured, scratched

Carried plucked boulders south.

 

Mid-state, long fingers

In gouged valleys,

Eskers and drumlins

Are all that remains of

Old Man Glacier.