Gravel road still bends its way, old peach trees by its side, dying now, those whips I planted, for want of pruning, lack of care. Silver maples around our house still shade an overgrown yard. But square depression marks the place where basement was, burned house above, our songs, our bed, pushed over limestone ledge where once I sat and thought. An overhanging rock my roof, Flynn,s Creek my vision’s treat, now buried with all those thoughts beneath my house’s bones. It all held promise at his leaving. Always it would come again, Before I came and saw the end With peach trees along the road. I picked a wormy half-sized fruit Bit and tasted a bitter reward.