A grocery store at 2am on Tuesday
Is as beautiful as the forest
On October 26th.
As much an oasis
As the chain of lakes.

I love the quiet spaces
I love the empty places
Where I can pretend
I'm looking at the ghost
Of mankind long since passed.

On a long stretch of country road
Driving on the last tank of gas.
Sun-bleached canary-yellow lines
Will never be repainted.
But, god, they are beautiful.

My childhood is void of people.
There's a filter in my memories.
Color and light and temperature,
But never any sound
And very little movement.

The photographs in my album:
The sherbet-colored sky.
A chain link fence and gravel alley.
The warmth of the light.
The size of my hands.