Embers and ash
Swirl in the early fall winds
Where the cabin used to stand
Dented propane tank hunches wretchedly
By careless ATV
Would almost seem phantom driven
If they looked hard enough
Ceiling sits atop blackened floorboard and dirt
Only the falling leaves
And old tree branches
Could ever know the whole truth
Of how the scorched young man met his end
Against the wall of that old trapper abode
Of how the gas ignited and lit up
The late summer sky
The fire blew its smoky winds straight up
Against the trees that swayed away from it
But were not fully able to escape
It burned harder and faster
Than logic would have allowed
But only the creatures that inhabit this place
Had any curiosity as to it now
And the graves it held below were overlooked
As was the garden the traveler had planted
Without so much as a snapping branch below his feet
The traveler disappeared into the ether again

Weakened in all the wrong places
The ATV the traveler discovers
Is abandoned but still warm
Only a few miles
Between the garden and the cabin
Cautiously he shortcuts
Through the maze of these woods
Watching for the rider to appear
The cabin, tiny in the distance
Reveals the stumbling rider headed for the porch
The traveler is soon behind him
Intent on knowing only what the rider seeks
The rider is startled by his new friend
And collapses into the travelers arms
With bloodied hands he explains
An ill fated late day run
Ended against a tree for the rider and his ride
Once inside, the rider falls on the flattened mattress
As if it was meant to be his resting place
The traveler contemplates the next move
As the rider drifts in and out of consciousness
And passes out at last
Only a few short feet
From his worst nightmare

Weakened in all the wrong places
The soil yields again to the travelers shovel
Patting down the final muddy bumps
Her whimpers barely audible
From below the soil
The traveler drags a fallen tree
Just across her as he slowly sits
To enjoy a sip of cold spring water
And bears witness to her final moments
Wind picks up and scatters
The slow drying leaves of fall
Across her unmarked, untimely grave
His garden is full of pretty flowers like her
Whose petals were removed and stems separated
In preparation for his planting season
Whose beauty was a curse
And whose trusting nature held their downfall
Not unlike their male counterparts
Who undeserving found their way to this place
Buried under rock and earth
No meaning in their passing
Just the simple inexplicable logic
Of the madman who chose them

Weakened in all the wrong places
The shabby cabin door pops open
The air is heavy with pine and pain
And embraces him like home
The dirty rug welcomes him
And the kitchen table sits dusty
Alone and wishing to host anyone
The mattress sits terrified
On the small bed frame
Tied up with heavy thick knots
And rolled forward to the bed’s end
Bringing to his mind the memories
Of all the ones he has brought here
Begging for freedom
Only to find their way into the ground
Just a few miles from here
Window pane is cracked
And keeps its reflection distorted
Shovels and other tools of his trade
Line dark and splintered walls
While rags lie near the fireplace
Torn and ready to tie
He takes a deep breath
And in that moment
The traveler is home

Weakened in all the wrong places
The vehicle was easy to steal
Rattled from his close encounter
The traveler is most focused
On finding the highway
Away from this place
And distant to the next he drives
Hours pass and time drags
As slow as the last body he moved
Fluid and free spirited in life
She was heavy and unyielding
At her death
The club where he caught her
Was almost as dark as him
The spinning hot lights
And dirty beam that held her
Drew him to her
This small town girl
With ambitions of grandeur
But a destiny of mud
Lay on the floor of his hotel room
To await nightfall
Still glittering eyes stare open
With the stunned expression
So many before her have known

Thick and deep brown mud
Still clings to the tires
Parked in front of this diner
As if they traveled that road yesterday
Not weeks before
A man in a long grey trench coat
Catches their attention
From their cluttered front seat
Radio and cherry light just out of sight
Headlines of terror
Have crowded the front page for weeks
But this particular reader is smiling
Almost delighted as the information soaks in
Sitting relaxed on this bench
As if a vacationer taking in the sites
But they know that just doesn’t happen here
His smiling eyes catch their gaze
And he seems frozen
Slowly raising that paper in front of himself
Something crashes and their attention is diverted
Only for a moment
To the clumsy moving men
But just long enough
For the traveler to make his escape