“Churches, Fields, Bridges” by L. Ward Abel

Churches, Fields, Bridges

Rivers, addled below a bluff’s
mildewed town from which
              the country spilled
its broken windows
              ivy, spirits—
something happened here,
              empty houses

conjure shadow-full
              while extreme east
and west coasts teem,
              ignore;
overflown and coming apart
              this place is like
New Madrid when
              the big river
paid twice
              and then moved on
again.