At the far end of the canyon
where the road fades into dust,
and the remnants of old wagon trains
have dissolved into rust,
where the touch of high society
has left no lasting mark,
and no streetlight marks your way
if you’re out walking in the dark,
where there’s no hum from the engines
far off on the interstate,
and there’s not much use for fences,
iron bars or cement grates,
where the flowers bloom through summer,
their scent filling the night air,
if you come when dusk is falling
chances are you’ll find me there.
09 JUN 2005
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