50° this October morning. Gram Parsons on the radio singing about his hour of darkness. Turning off the Woodlawn Bridge out of the neighborhood and onto Crittenden, the UPS hanger looms large in the foreground. Clouds in the horzion hang like familiar mountains I haven’t visited in far too long, the road through I once walked where I met my devil. The land between a wide river I am still learning to cross.

(for JP Wright)