Thoughts gathering. Still listening. Longing.

He strode as heir apparent to a memory

in galoshes filled with dust

and leaves of threadbare



Gravel, like a road of broken glass,

bundles itself together in

tousled lumps of the old roads,



Footfalls, freshly faltering,

appraise themselves of what had

gone before – like a wagging tongue, never



Even the magpies mock their

cowboy choir – their country for

cajoling cowards, crowing without



Crumpled into corners of hours,

crouch the days of famished weeks. Years

rake up from the ditch, staring down his borrowed


country road










Image found here

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