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| Evening ride in Upper Turkeyfoot |
Our faces part the air
downhill on a country road
in solitudes of speed
that elevate the spirit
and free the imagination,
cooler through the swales,
red barns and white houses,
broad foreheads of cows,
baled hay in wagons,
blackbirds crossing field to field,
wild turkey chicks running into the corn,
sunlight in the tops of thunderheads,
the universe expanding
infinitely in all directions,
yet we are central still.
In the windrush you may think
you hear me breathe your name,
but I am barely here,
and you not at all.
