Broken baby toys and bottles sprawl the valley
with mottled light upon the understory.
A stripped and damaged body of a Chevrolet
on cinderblocks, made tender by the moss,
bursts with tangled vines, profuse and sullied.
Look over there for royal morning-glories;
glance in the other, a graveyard silhouettes
long crooked poles that pool huge shadowed crosses.
A bleating goat next door escaped its fold
but hunkers under shade to fight the heat.
One truck kicks up a ruckus on the road
slow gravel floats and levels to a heap
on foothills over which dark heavens smudge.
A mizzle whines a bloody sky, dust to mud.