The road whispers go forward and fast, like light
there were no directions no hints of point or perspective
I followed
into the clouds that kept the sun quiet
the daylight rich and hollow
skies laid out on my shoulders
its autumn
and I feel winters earnest rush
the season of loss, the silence
stares through both of us
Backroads, the quiet morning, before you wake
but I am gone
and the sun barely touches the earth
and the stone speaks little of histories, only names
backroads, the weight of heaven on the branches and limbs
but I am gone
your door does not recognize the ghost
nor offer any words of excuses or renewal
friendship and love; these words we throw like stones
mean nothing in a vacuum
mean nothing in their absence
a ghost that sees itself with little purpose
in this realm
backroads, riding silent, alone,
I am happy and yet sad
that you have found your own…..
I am home,
haunted in this field is the feeling that left me
but I am open
to feel
and the ghosts we love and ache for
are real
I am home,
walked to the lake to be closer to the trees
a ghost brushed my shoulder
I remember Rusk
I remember sleeping in the comfort
of being whole
even while the apnea
left me oxygen starved and cold
I remember
the empty space that never filled
I spoke with God and its empty still
you were the home that kept me
you were the home that promised time
and I am left with a beautiful ghost
and a home that isn’t mine….
I remember snow
last Christmas
but they’ve cleared the trees and sterilized the road
you rise out of the beautiful field
an eye sore
but you give more than you take
though there’s nothing left in your wake
my son saw a bobcat with cubs the other day
even while all the trees and deeper forests were whisked away
In disgust I watch as you give more than you take
while I was only hoping that the back roads
the landscape might keep
another day….