Restless as the interstate, it creeps
one foot a day – an exponential reach that sings.
Suburban nostalgia ignites a sparkler
in my belly: glorious green ruin!
Near this hill is a house rendered in kudzu:
the furniture arranged, the piano waiting for fingers.
“Death is always at work,” I remember.
Invading the invasive, your dress shoes are lost.
Like That – the headlamp that forged a path through the cemetery
blinks out. There! – a paparazzi -
a litter of lightning bugs.