|
TAKE THE BACKROADS
When you come
take the backroads home
past the farmhouses lost
in oceans of corn,
across bridges
lifting over willows.
Drive through
the storefront towns
and wait for the moment
the tree line shifts
with a gravel curve
and encloses you
seaming off the road behind
and weaving you permanently
into an old cloth.
The tall brick house
with sweeping porches
still glows red in evening light
and an aproned woman in slippers
is shaking out her rugs.
Across the field
horses are wading in a creek
and further
in the church yard
is a grave covered with tiger lilies.
Bittersweet
will spill over fences
and ignite in your mind
fires in dark recesses
where you will see
lost thoughts of childhood
written on the walls
a litany of known
and unknown loves
the small sharp cuts
of loneliness
and dreams
like half-carved angels
pushing through the stone.
|
|
DEFINITIONS
A ribbon of geese
fluttered
over the highway
and I felt left out
understanding suddenly
what it means to be
wingless
knowing myself
unable to shake
the weight of earth
unable to take
the empty place
in the wedge
just there
unable to ride
a rush of air once
my upward thrust
has snapped
the tether
unable to understand
winged.
|
|
