Bypath.

 Red earth lutes us off the main road up to the grown up graveyard
and everyone is dead--the buried, the tenders, and the flower bringers.
 ... we route on, through cloud grazing pines where sunlight ends a
short yard in and I imagine when Granddaddy plowed this land, his very
own, to figure and trim
... we are fearsome of snake venom on female foot with not even a stick,
uncertain of its course and spill or worst, its boondocks doom
... it creeps and curves on we slow some then quicken, it echoes our
laughter and screams and it leads us through
... to the triumph of a traveling spring chattering the perfectness of
morning life, a clear day, a campfire under indigo-black.
We wade water, stretch our necks to the pines, dance in the rays that
make it through and this path, a new companion, has led us to all we
ever sought.