HAINT BLUE

follow me,

the emissary crow of the woods.

I unfurl my wings and take flight,

winging through shadowed trees

and leaves

dappled in light.

a distant calliope plays faintly

a misplaced song quaintly,

but near and dear to hear.

it wheezes and chimes

through centuries of time,

and he hums along,

remembers words wrong,

and laughs, to the delight

of our ancestors.

we’ll soar over hollers

and undulating hills.

upon those bluegrass backs

are platted plans

of secret whiskeys distilled

and patchworked burley tobacco—

the foundations and vertebrae

of the land.

we’ll glide across the ceilinged sky

piercing its haint-blue hue,

slipping through the windows

and the cracks in the walls

of the local museum

where we’ll be so lucky

to meet our affable guide,

the Storykeeper of Kentucky.

he perches amidst his city

of swaying book towers

and monuments of crumbling maps—

a city populated by faded photos

of the Gone

but not forgotten.

he weaves stories,

shaping the past and

lighting the way home—

to where your heart and mind

already reside.