Chillicothe, Ohio
The sun fades like a lost civilization
behind me. Stubbled fields that once held
the forgotten artifacts of the dead
kaleidoscope past the windows of my car.
How many mouths still sing
the hollow songs of roots? How many
bones still hold up the corridors
of the earth? The road runs straight
for miles; there is no place to veer.
The long shadows of round bales crawl
over empty mounds toward home.
The sun fades like a lost civilization
behind me. Stubbled fields that once held
the forgotten artifacts of the dead
kaleidoscope past the windows of my car.
How many mouths still sing
the hollow songs of roots? How many
bones still hold up the corridors
of the earth? The road runs straight
for miles; there is no place to veer.
The long shadows of round bales crawl
over empty mounds toward home.
Kip Knott's writing and photography has recently appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal. His book of poetry, Tragedy, Ecstasy, Doom, and so on, is available from Kelsay Books. More of his work can be accessed at kipknott.com.