by Taylor Jones
I love the small abandoned places
trailers perched on cinderblocks like weary birds
blown about by the winds of lives passing
caved-in roofs of barns echoing the curves of the mountains
weathered gray wood touching blue sky
rain-washed awnings and tarnished chrome
tattered flags still holding up a stiff salute to the wind
junkyards and roadside stands
peeling paint and cantilevered sheds
factories where startled crows
billow from the smokestacks
churches lost
to a lack of material faith
the lonely places
passed by
on my way
to you.
Smoky Quartz 