Sunday, March 25, 2018

Ghosts in an Autumn Field


Tread lightly through charcoal forests in winter
there are ghosts among dried and brittle vines
there are captured moments of children
lost wonder among gray and dying grasses
there are voices in meadows
whispers innocent and fleeting, all passing

We saved turtles on this path
we caught snakes 
all kinds of road kill
dark sillouettes of owls
in the early mornings on the way to school
it reminded me of New Jersey
deep forests and yellow fields
where teens would drive their trucks
in the mud
that dirt road
where my black car
was always pale
dust
now replaced
with a black asphalt
and metal fences

I can still hear you 
a child barely eight
we laughed about simple things
on that dirt road
far away from everything
tread lightly through memories
charcoal forests
burn in autumn fields

voices of youth in meadows
quiet
ghosts among dry and brittle vines...


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