This long and earthen road mud and dusty roadside weeds flanked by crows and slim carrion my body knows the way and my dog the scents of mailbox to mailbox and eyes out for rabbits both in our quiet companionship winter’s breaking in this town
water kicks into my shoes but that’s okay whatever to feel like childhood and my sad Mary memories
I watch a sepia ghost on my peripheral she stands by the pond, murky stops and stares and I stare back without manners
and back at home, the rafters creak and I’m surrounded by woodburner smell and stripped down to my underwear I let my back burn on the crisp heat and tuck into my books. the saints and kerouacs speak softly.