something BAD happened on Varga Road
    (i           can           feel               it)

on my way 
home from an
evening hike
the asters gently
rub against my 
sharp ankles
as both legs
make their way


milkweeds as
tall as me

roads with no lines, only dirt

can't distinguish which way to go 
between the Old Oak     & the 
Creepy Sunflower Farm 

     i cannot see for what feels like
days, the thick haze 
   that lies over the cornfields
as the morning sun gently rests
  before she makes her way

a set of human eyes, faintly drawn
in the fields 
   continues to follow me as i walk
down Varga Road