RUSTIC SONG

it’s a stare-roid –

with a big wheel to steer,

into the clear.

puffs of smoke,

in shapes like a ghost –

in a believe it,

carry the light,

and be a scrappy happy –

make like grappling

the rocks from the mountains,

throughout the centuries,

clinching to pieces,

in the mix of a mason’s heart,

as if pressing the air and the rust

into preservation’s mortar,

in a get lost in a rustic song

feeling the bonds of life –

make like unification’s

become a strength of achievement.