Out On The Rideline

Evening begins

Over the radio towers, on the ridge out by Poolesville

She arrives like the late plane from Chicago

Following the River

I look to the low Sun

and try to see,

try to find the frequency, try to predict the course of things

But evening comes and morning follows

She sits alone in an imagined room

Without music

Just static between here and there

Just jet noise

And vapor trails falling to pieces

I put lights out in the trees today

Thinking that maybe the day will come

when that makes sense

When I can read the signs, the trails, the sky

Out on the ridgeline

Just before dark.