Pennsylvania

Composed while on a road trip a few summers ago out in Pennsylvania. We drove through a little town early in the morning, around 2 a.m., and there were little candles at each grave in their cemetery.

I wonder often if you think of me too.

The day was hot and dry as paper,
lasting too long into the hours of night.

There were lights in the graveyard
as I passed by the other night,
lost and alone, traveling.

So far I’ve wandered this way,
along lonely highways,
loveless composing
feelings into colors into words.

Hours of asphalt provide much time
for thinking (too much and too little)
on this cemetery I have passed never before.

I have been driving all night:
The ghostly sun rises above still-sleeping mountains.

But there were lights in your graveyard.