Every Traveler Has One Vermont Poem

Spikes of lavender aster under Route 91
hide a longing or confession
“I remember when air was invisible”
from Chamberlin Hill down to Lord’s Creek
tree mosses point the way home.

Two nights of frost
and already the hills are turning
curved green against the astonished morning
sneeze-weed and ox-eye daisies
not caring I am a stranger
making a living choice.

Tanned boys I do not know
on their first proud harvest
wave from their father’s tractor
one smiles as we drive past
the other hollers
nigger
into cropped and fragrant air.