Crossing the Ohio: deep in the soil, memory jeweled

Abandoned car in a field


I can still hear you, saying
dark water is always pulling
us like the road, blood deep
into our dreams and scars
a train passed over the Ohio
and moaned, I remember
you said the sound of trains
made you feel so alone
your eyes heavy in the saying
like river soil, wet, deep
filled with stars
that night you spoke of her
a woman called Memory
it’s been years, but
even now, I remember you said
every time she returned
her soft green eyes toward you
you had to look away, but
that was then, not today
not today


I started writing this for god
but, I was thinking about you
every thought a longing-blue
every word a wheel of fire
lost, I walked into the night air
starry-silent, shadowy-near
you’re always here, I started
writing this for god, but
I was thinking of you
do you remember?

(Both from my notebook.)

photo credits
(where not otherwise credited)

“Car in field” / photograph by Sascha Burkard on Adobe Stock