Wherever I go, I sense blood in the land.
In this diner, I was a server.
Near Antietam, near Harpers Ferry.
Blood soaked, river ravaged.
Lost spirits slumped in chairs,
perched on counter stools,
wandering the back gravel roads.
Lost humans, me too.
The poetry of time and the senses, blood, rivers, blood-rivers, honeysuckle and gunpowder.
What a time to be alive…and dead.
It’s enough to make you question God.
I sure did.
