Birds on a Wire

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We get no visitors, just passing cars 

Criss-crossing the countryside

On gravel roads, nameless and nowhere

They disappear without trace

In dusty wakes

But for stones kicked up in a mangy lawn

Long given up on.

I'm flanked by all manner of failed things

That pine for my hand; 

A rusted spade shovel, a broken saw

Lifeless engines, plumbing that drips

This house of lap boards and paint chips.

But amid all the vacancy and ruin

We smile secret smiles

That keeps between us, everything dear

Rocking a cantankerous porch swing

As though at 49, at last we find

We can forget time

And with lemonade in our hands

Sip the sour days away

And daze away, like birds on a wire

To the sounds of a maraca-like cicada trill...

To the smells of smoldering grass fires...

To the sight of the shifting prairie line

Dividing the earth from the sky

Where souls sail and bodies linger

And we'd surely be-- if only we cared to let go

And simply fly.

Nothing is permanent.

So much nothing, sweet nothing

To worry, hope or wait for.