Somewhere, (in Texas) Barbed-wire fence A few steps off Off the right-of-way The Mexicans In these parts, call these Cleared, right-of-way paths: 'Verderechas' Move toward the Fence that is swaying, in parts and angled-down Rusted relic Of the past Here now With me Cedar posts Gray half-rotted thru Give, as I step over This aged angled Protector of future-pasts These before-titans Can no longer do their Intended job Chaparros, Chaparral All around Right over your head above eyelevel Except for the straight-line Clearings Came upon Fading homestead site On overgrown road Green fresh trees In a large circle Around foundation Of flattened home Water well Out back Windmill Still standing With a lean... Green oasis Out, alone With stories From the past Found the center And Sat - did nothing For a long while Just sat... Much played on Onandon As I sat As life cycles Provide a rhythm Apurpose Achapter And As here And all around A fading record... _________________________________________________ *Tommy Lee Jones came by, earlier... ~