Buzzards are returning to the hard shoulder.
The broke State is letting nature handle
the road kill we encounter heading south –
skunk, deer, raccoon, wild turkey, no badger.
We read A Blessing, cast in resin, blessing all
whose absences are perfectly preserved
by a caretaker making circles with a cloth,
moving from one picnic station to the next,
a Zen master in overalls observing
his silence in this temple of departure.
Before belting up to hit the road again,
in rest rooms kept so clean it is as if
nobody ever stopped to pass water here,
we leave no trace and dry our hands with air.