This is no hallow place
it is pasture land and that is all.
Why do I find myself at it
in times of trial?
And have since November ‘97
10:00 pm–20 degrees
steam rising in phantom sheets
off the hood of my car.
Even when I am nowhere near
I still find myself drawn here,
always with the same question…


I walk the gravel trail
adjacent to the water’s edge
noticing the broken beer bottles
and charred remains
of a previous night’s exuberance.
A five-leafed marijuana plant
spotlighted in the moonlight
makes me laugh. It is no weed.
More likely the remnants
of someone’s cheap bag–

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