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Lowland Hum
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Twine
We follow roads that wind like twine through country side,
the poor and the fine.
We rode in cars packed to the brim with books and friends,
eager as kids.
Seeking peace and silent sound but the road could not be found.
Three times drove past and turned around.
Home sweet home, our cabin in the pines.
Couch rearranged, the stories spilled,
unguarded mouths as life filled the house.
Drip, drip, drip, goes shower, sink, keeping time on metal beneath.
Seeking peace and silent sound. Hours of heaviness profound.
Moon, soft moon, your mist, sweet perfume.
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