The ghost of spray paint haunts its walls
where the creek rocks bear the weight of years
under the low bridge
is a crossroads of two creeks meeting

The creek rocks bear the heavy weight of years
where the hill dreams in quiet murmur
this nexus point connection
the moss is green, and deep underfoot

Where the gurgle of a hillside stream sings
in this crossroads of creek water
the water is colder here
there’s something cavern like under the bridge

Its opening a tunnel between two creeks
under the low bridge
spelunking without a cave
there was the ghost of spray paint haunting its walls