Rogue Valley Mountain Laurels
from the western edge of highway one
to the east of appalachia
I got my ticket baby here I come
following the
crows and colors
toward September
a letter written with a nervous hand
with a stroke of a shaky pen
bottled up and buried in the sand
castles built and
taken under
gone without a trace
watch the clouds along the coastal range
through the desert and the empty space
in Pennsylvania you can almost taste
the mountain laurels
when I lay these flowers on this grave
and do the math to find the final age
I think of all the different ways
darling don't
be long in waiting
the locks and every
window breaking
the darkness won't be
long in taking
you
