, , , , , , , , , , ,

end of the road

lord knows
the fields are empty now –
by summer burned away

and I wonder
do you miss
the tender nights

do you think about
forever –
a sunrise such as this
when clouds compete –
a winter quilt

do you dream
without permission
awake within a sigh –
stumble out of ribbons
to the porch

do you speak of me
into the still
where morning waits
the night

do you watch
the road –
and curse the moving on

. . .