Mountain Laurels
Chris Koza
From the western edge of highway one
To the east of Appalachia
I got my ticket baby here I come
Following the
Crows and colors
Toward September
A promise written with a nervous hand
With a stroke of a shaky pen
Bottled up and buried in the sand
Castles built and
Taken under
Gone without a trace
Watch the clouds along the coastal range
Through the desert and the empty space
In Pennsylvania you can almost taste
The mountain laurels
When I lay these flowers on this grave
And do the math to find the final age
I think of all the different ways
Darling don't
Be long in waiting
The locks and every
Window breaking
The darkness won't be
Long in taking
You
