Off Road

Humming asphalt yields to a growling trail
Daisies and tall grass crowding the narrow way
Convalescent pines lean to peak in the windows
Of our small truck bouncing and banking
We look out, miles into the thickness of the woods,
Recording light and sounds with eyes only
Services long fallen silent, checked at the door,
Tallying likes with each smile we share

-T. Weeks
(“Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice”)