Took us out of town, out
to the hills and barns and acres stretching
beyond our eyes. We never knew
where the properties stopped
but the split-rail fence on the side
of this gravel road
reminds me of the nail I forced
like a kiss on a stranger
through my hand. I couldn’t write
for weeks but God, I could drive
south out of town and there are no
traffic signals out here
except for one caution light flashing
yellow, yellow
through this evenings death. Yellow.
I’m not driving anywhere
but south – the hay on either side
rolled into beauty. My hand
pulses sometimes, like an old heart
misplaced. I know this.
The caution light sings this way