An acoustic guitar and a train track beat…

we’re chugging rugged countryside,

rounding bends,

wind streaming through open windows.

I think I’ll watch every dry yellow leaf flutter

and fall,

each flock of grass nod, swish and bow to the sun.

Sometimes grief’s a tar sticking in the lungs

and working to let it go means little

but waiting, waiting becomes the story,

waiting until it decides to let go of you.

The strum will fill your warm heart

as the clack-clack rhythm moves you through time–

be with what is,

it’s got its own magic, which you hold

and holds you,

growing in clarity, in beauty

somewhere on down the line.