drowsy
porch swing
on mother’s day
each pass and creak
wave goodbye
to the
southern sun
over
blue grass
covering
red clay
twenty years
since our last
genuine word
laughing at
lightning bugs
who are
drunk on moonshine
they can’t walk
a straight line
either
ralph stanley sings
o’ death
brother asks sister
when i’m moving
back down home
i say when
i can do it
in a
batesville casket