I have wandered down this creek-side road

with a kind of curious ebullience –

a roadside infatuation with hard-to-pull weeds.

The long cool of it disrupts the day long

enough to breathe in the dust,

to hear the gravel crunch beneath these boots –

and let my eyes wander

                                    upward

                                                where the clouds compete

                                                            with geese and hours,

and poetry the color of rain.