I Know the UnderBelly of This Town Like the Back of My Hand

The minute I hit Michigan
I knew I was home.
I wish you could see it here.
The land is beautiful
& all my roads are where I left them.
Little snow is left, only             
            lying low in gullies
lakes & slower rivers still iced over.

Haze hangs over the hills of the horizon,
shaped grey against grey shapes.
Breath of sky on my face.
Let rain be the sheets
& clouds the blanket
if the day is cold.

I'm selling my myths
to pay off my debts
& finance all of the rest.