we hit the road hard bright eyed
and the weather turned cold and grey
streaks blurring the glass on the short
quick drive through farm fields and winding roads
dotted by historic markers and churches
we crashed a Pentecostal picnic in the back
of the store looking for bathrooms
and brushing on blush near the train
tracks where Lincoln stood, and the wood
of the floors giving a rhythm and depth
that took us past the present and back
and farther back before propelling us
back onto the road in the rain up the hill
behind a black bear bounding
across the roadway like a beast
magnificent and quick and purposeful
the deer, too, crossing just ahead of us
but slower and more suspicious like me
every passing day and eventually we landed
at the wood-lined hotel where ghosts
greeted us skeptically as we got room keys
from the smiling blonde, god-fearing boy
kindly cluing us in to the parking etiquette
of west virginia as we rushed along
to gig two where the man said wow
and we didn’t know why, we’d only
pulled up the van but the warmth
greeted us like a blanket of low light
winning us all over in another two hours
time flying like the bear up the hill
and then we returned to the ghosts
who left evidence of their party
on a dwindling bottle of booze
so of course spirit jokes and deep
conversations about love and lust and who
has what when and break ups always good
late-night banter with the ghosts in the room
having a sip and wanting to tell their own
and doing so once the lights are out
and the next morning we washed them off
in the rain at Coopers Rock where the clouds
misted eyes and skin and leaves turned red
and two bluejays appeared in a second
to offer assurances of peace and promise
before we rounded the corner into Maryland
and had ourselves a feast