inroad spring

"Inroad Spring"

the track runs through low scrub,

a thin line worn by weather

and countless soles before.

springs self reveal in small ways—

a warmer breath of wind,

a looseness in the soil.

I keep on without rush.

those who steadied me

walk with a quiet weight,

not pushing, not pulling,

just keeping their pace

as the ground shifts under us.

behind me, the old house sits

with its doors half‑closed.

old worry turned sharp,

loss talk grown tight.

I leave it as it stands,

rooted in its own season.

out here, the brush moves easy.

a few birds lift and settle,

unbothered by my passing.

the road gives only what it can—

dust, a bit of warmth, spring

bubbling from dirt and stone.

.