A house, a short-way up the road
on the canyon’s curve, looks abandoned
but it is warm and comfortable inside
where I head afoot, noticing sign.
Around the bend, some kind of vehicle
is crunched into a rock pile,
upside down, broken glass—I look
for life but there is no one, dead or alive.
I look inside the house for a dent
in the couch, a butt in the ashtray,
then relax to contemplate
what I don’t understand.
I hear voices out back and see three
young men reclined around a rocked-in
fire for cooking. The yard is immaculate
without debris of weeds and leaves
as they look up to greet me, offering
the best they have, when I wake up.
drycrikjournal 
Nice dream! I like that kind!
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