On the road.

The scrawny sun
in the crisp tenderness of
telegraph wires has tripped
while
chasing its newborn
inspiration
and remained there,
hanging as a shining ball,
until the end of Indian summer.
After the first rain of October quietly
Rolled back
on our last,
dusty,
southern,
lost
highway…
One homeless dream
barked with happiness
when it saw
it.