Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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black hole hollow

ordinary dirt
this road winds down
to swaddling tees
restrained by boulder walls
stone guarding stones
upright story flags
pocked with black moss flecks
lichen crumbling scratchy
under finger tips
shallow letters with
bare bones accounts
I want to know
the face the runes
and numbers represent
his life was short
did he know love
while free to live
above despite
hard scrabbled days
if not him whose
heart still glows
coals flinging out
the half life rays
that drew me here
to hollow’s end?

______________________________
a cemetery and its road on the New York – Vermont border.