Lost Roads

The flashlight finds it folded,

a brittle crease across a river drawn long ago—

the paper breathes a sigh beneath my fingers,

faintly damp with the rain from outside.

Corners curl like reluctant leaves,

dark shadows pooling into lines I never followed.

The road’s ink blurs where my thumb pressed hard,

a wrinkle like a vein cracked in slow grief.

I stare past the worn edges,

to a place I should have reached before the night got too deep,

but the lightning threw out

its cold fingers and cut the power.

And now the silence stretches like pavement,

empty except for these

flickering marks,

drawing me back to roads I left unfinished.