A ***** with naturally created dampness
causes me to lose my stride
and mess my moccasins.

How will this muddy mess be conquered
by my not so balanced state-
shaky even as I stand and ponder.

A friend is already on the other side,
as use was made of two delicately placed logs
but my trust for them is nonexistent.

I choose another log to complete the path,
heavier than I had imagined,
and I place it not so delicately in between the others.

Medium sized rocks penetrate the soles of my shoes,
and tease the nerves in my feet constantly.
They never pierce me fully and I am thankful.

My brain is set on numerous trains,
and the tracks, and railroad spikes.
I was warned but I was more than disappointed.

There was truly nothing there but garbage,
splinters of wood and scrap cloth
caked with mud and gravel.

There is some beauty in this trip.
The nostalgia I craved was nowhere in sight,
but that was not such a bad thing after a moment.

Sprinkled along the rocky path
little areas of beauty stood out through the vacancy.
There were daisies everywhere.