Cemetery Road

Black horse, red barn,
field pocked and steaming.
One white house then another, 
March sky like pealed clapboard.

This is a short road of declarations.
Look out the window as you drive by,
in every plot there is a sink hole in which
secrets like manure lay decomposing.

Slow down, inhale the sweet air.
The horse is shaking dew from its mane.
Remember to bow as you pass by,
there is a long history of animals watching.