Kentucky.

It’s been,
creeping in,
foreseen,
in dreams,
the planetary,
aligning again;
late in the year,
of twenty-something,
on the umpteenth,
at approximately,
three-forty-three,
a plane will land,
to force the hand,
and, I’ll be in Kentucky;
I’ll go beyond,
wherever I’m expected,
to have gone,
just to shine the light,
at the face that’s right,
the one who deserves,
to be shined upon,
for the many things,
that he both, has,
and hasn’t done.
Same ol’ owner,
of the same,
ol’ work-boots,
same steamy boxcar,
same dreams,
tried and true.