You Think You Know

I’m not a piece of dandelion down,
a glass gargoyle or a plaster saint.
An opera from Budapest, I ain’t.
I missed the free throw, didn’t get the rebound,
didn’t meet you for the final train
from Paris, or fight for the Underground.
I’ve never played for the Miami Sound
or forged an artist’s signature in paint.
Of destinations, I’m the overlook,
the wayside, not the trailhead. I’m the sinker
on the line and you’re the hook.
I’m terra incognita on the charts,
the monster drawn to occupy the blanks.
I’m the unknown country in your heart.

Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside