Names on the Land
up on Tunnel Hill
just beyond a mausoleum
a dying sun drops
down through a nameless sky
where,
the gypsy cannot see
the smell of rain upon this ribbon of road
and her premonition of death
(premature)
finds no lamb lying down
upon the heat of tar wheeled pavement
where,
the psychic cannot see
the song of a bird never heard before
and her visions of spirit painting
(predetermined)
hide no siskins behind needles
of Penn's sylvan stand of pine
where,
westing these woods, these roads, these little towns
secreted between rolling hills still rising as they wash away,
sequestered near small streams still cutting broad valleys,
i am Isis
i am Brando
i am Dylan
i am Pocahontas
i am Lloyd Wright
i am Ferme
i am Red Cloud
i am Skinner
i am Lewis
i am Clark
i am St. Francis
where,
once done,
i wash my hands
of this venison blood
in the white water rapids
of Yough River,
a baptism along the banks
of an Ohiopyle pilgrimage
south to Fallingwater's cantilevered cathedral
where,
along No. 11 Road
just beyond a cemetery gate,
a water gap sits still,
church silent amidst the Appalachian, the Allegheny
and all the other Names on the Land
paved along these roads
planted upon these fields
buried beneath these headstones
Nanty Glo
Gallitzin
Creekside
Cherry Tree
Rural Valley
Hooverhurst
Home
Purchase Line
Panic
Desire
Gipsy
Tunnel Hill
where,
just beyond these graves,
my love and i
nevermore alive
up on Tunnel Hill
just beyond a mausoleum
a dying sun drops
down through a nameless sky
where,
the gypsy cannot see
the smell of rain upon this ribbon of road
and her premonition of death
(premature)
finds no lamb lying down
upon the heat of tar wheeled pavement
where,
the psychic cannot see
the song of a bird never heard before
and her visions of spirit painting
(predetermined)
hide no siskins behind needles
of Penn's sylvan stand of pine
where,
westing these woods, these roads, these little towns
secreted between rolling hills still rising as they wash away,
sequestered near small streams still cutting broad valleys,
i am Isis
i am Brando
i am Dylan
i am Pocahontas
i am Lloyd Wright
i am Ferme
i am Red Cloud
i am Skinner
i am Lewis
i am Clark
i am St. Francis
where,
once done,
i wash my hands
of this venison blood
in the white water rapids
of Yough River,
a baptism along the banks
of an Ohiopyle pilgrimage
south to Fallingwater's cantilevered cathedral
where,
along No. 11 Road
just beyond a cemetery gate,
a water gap sits still,
church silent amidst the Appalachian, the Allegheny
and all the other Names on the Land
paved along these roads
planted upon these fields
buried beneath these headstones
Nanty Glo
Gallitzin
Creekside
Cherry Tree
Rural Valley
Hooverhurst
Home
Purchase Line
Panic
Desire
Gipsy
Tunnel Hill
where,
just beyond these graves,
my love and i
nevermore alive
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