maybe the gravel was too thin on the length of the roadway, deep pockets gouged in and out along the creek somewhere the air stirred and the yellow haze clouded your eyes, clung to your tears, and coated arms outstretched and waiting you don’t tell often of the leaving, but the pain is there in all the words you seldom speak I picture you easily, the boy; sandy blonde and stumbling sadly, the edge of the yard so vast and ultra green but I too can see the man; hands upon the boys shoulders, strength where there was none before, and the boy waiting, waiting for it all to pass