Around the curve of the road
the lilting, dripping trees
slant into view.
It has been miles since town
and days since he’s stopped to talk,
to breathe.
As the boughs curve, taller and taller, over him
a cabin hunches out of the landscape,
wood red in the damp.
It looks like home, lights on,
lines soft in the rain.
But as he gets out,
it smells heavy, 
like loss.