Walk with me around the farm.
We’ll catalog auto parts beaten
into rust by weather and time
and gather enigmatic animal
bones eaten clean by beetles.

Together we’ll scout
out grandfather’s land,
meandering until dusk
between tobacco barns
and wasted creek beds,
compelled by atavistic
dread to stick together.

Come, amble with me.
Peer into raccoon dens
and abandoned wells.

Hold my hand
and we’ll send
our worries
whistling
into every hollow,
following
the old paths
of discarded
shotgun shells.