Shadow Creek Road
The current is strong for this time of year, and rain keeps falling, grass no longer thirsts but glistens drunk, vivid and erect hopeful. So I turn down that road again, the one with the dirt path and charm -->hoping for a covered bridge, open-ended shelter But my selfish fingers u-turn, wheels spin tires and mud my eyes. As a traveler I have lost my passport here more than once before. the moon scrapes tides, our boats drift sarcastically... and in these years when the sky is generous so am i No matter. when the sun shows his high yellow face again he will ask for my hand and bridges will cease their magical allure and dying grass will yield to fresh, less haughty seed.