Things I Can Put My Lack of Faith In…

I have faith in the borrow pit alongside
forgotten two lane highways and backroads that go on forever,
music, bourbon, Irish whiskey
half empty dive bars on cold winter nights
and the small of a woman’s back.
There’s faith in derelict small towns
where faith has been lost,
the silence of the morning, the tick and chime
of an old grandfather clock, an old gelding,
dogs, cats, the purr of a cat and the snore of a dog, ravens who talk back, rows of lilacs
around homesteads outlining
where the outdoor shitters used to be,
the ripple of water, the patter of rain, the hiss of cars driving by, the smell of penetrating oil on old tools, old pickups, the pop of snow underfoot, books, and the understood silence between two people, twangy guitars, the wholesomeness of quality woodwork, understanding eyes which are few and far between, secret trails to secret spots by a lake nearly forgotten, ducks and turkeys holding up traffic, fires on cold days and the crackling once you build one that roars and the ember that flies up is a lifetime until it extinguishes, and we all burnout when nothing is left except for the remaining things that held faith.