I went to the Crossroads one cold night,
The dirt was frozen, there was little light.
I sat in the center, of the direction I faced:
I know not where.
I sat at the Crossroads, in the middle of nowhere,
I did something only few would dare.
I sang, a sad melody, into the air,
I sat and sang, just sitting there.
I sang for many things, of my lonely note,
I sang of my bereavements, rote by rote,
The words poured from my throat,
Living words I made then, in the air remote.
I could hear the grasses moving by my person near,
Though there were no nearby animals, I fear.
I listened as close as I could hear,
Perhaps it was a rabbit? Coyote? Deer?
No, a voice murmured in a tone so low,
‘Why do you sing so sadly so?’
Tears fell yes, my breathing slow,
Words could not come out, could not flow.
When I looked up once more,
There was a single white bone on the Crossroad’s moor,
A tiny thing, I knew not what for,
But it wasn’t there when I had come before….