Old Roads

Someday I'm going to walk down this road

And look out my window and try to remember what it looked like before it was cluttered with bricks and mortar,

Shadows and superstores. 

I'm going to try and remember the way it looked

When golden sunrise peeked through gaps in shrubs,

When morning fog hovered over the field,

And a mysterious little white house with dark shingles and no driveway

Crouched between rolls of fields;

The way the morning mist tattled on the distance between layers of trees in the flat distance

That went on farther than I could run

That went on
That went on
Went on

Like a painted Monet memory.

I'm going to understand what it means to miss the smell of cow manure

And spring melt on the breeze,

And wonder if the killdeer still live there.