we all have to stop & catch our breath
halfway down county route 705
& imagine that mark twain
once made great speeches here
that his facial hair expanded
with the gravity of the moon
that abraham lincoln shivered under the stars
looking for the ghost of a bald eagle
as he dreamed about the union dead
finding you here
with feathers of blue & green
in a siege with the missouri frost
that in time becomes the color of blood.
Petersburg, West Virginia in February 1990
you almost always
only came here in summer
a dirt road
a rusted out camper hanging there
like a leaning tower of babel
off the back of a pickup truck
a place of worship
for the lord of the flies
a mousehole
just big enough
to let your imagination in
dancing in the cool air
wrapping its fingers
around the future
when the battle cry of school bells
would rattle your ribcage.
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