The old road quotes the river verbatim

Playing follow the leader down

From the top of the bluff to where it joins the Mississippi.

You can fill in the details-

The types of trees that crowd the edge of the road,

The shape of their leaves,

The sounds they make when the breeze blows or the wind howls,

Blossoms floating earthward like debutantes gliding down stairs.

You can imagine driving there,

Old-time gospel music entwined with static

Spit from the radio of the rusted-out truck,

Its driver

Trying to find me as I walk along the feeble gravel shoulder,

Coughing at the dust. The clouds become a boiling froth of crows.

A quick flit of light blazes the sky,

Tens of thousands of ions screaming–

Whether in pain or pleasure, I don't know.

There's a short, sharp report of the splitting of a tree,

And a fine, curling puff of smoke that's obscured

By sudden rain, and then I'm soaked through.

The fact that I am dying is overshadowed

By the fact that you are already dead.

Meanwhile, she is staring out the window with those large, brown eyes,

Seeing nothing but the darkness.