This old place has a soul, a ghost 
a home-rich-haunted feel
the old dog down the road must be napping 
he’s awful danged quiet
when the young woman comes riding up the road 
on a horse with a radio strapped across its back 
booming and thumping 
some Jason Aldean song 

This little strip of country road 
where my heart beats deep 
the stories I grew up with 
now get older with me
where the waters got fat with violence 
and yanked away the banks in parts and patches

Big dogs bark 
the old rooster can’t read the sunset 
crows with pride, telling the world good morning 
after we’ve all had supper already
evening walks have become a quiet rhythm 
to our lived in lives
commenting on the big chunks of road 
that the old creek has eaten up 
after one flood or another
remarking over the dead trees 
with fresh sprouts 
of green growing on them

We walked down the road last night
tying together the stillness 
of a long drawn out moment
where the tall weeds 
and tangle of roots hold
this carved from old broken road reality

Strange things and a settled life 
beating to a heartbeat tune 
of a different kind of living song
where a young woman rides horseback
and the rich details of a lived in slice of road 
finds its summer sturdy rhythm 
even in these odd days 
of cold breezes and strange weather
it’s like walking into a painting