![](http://theglassblock.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/neville3-280x200.jpg)
Three Poems by Scott Silsbe
There’s a misty fog hanging over the hills of Turtle Creek
as I make my way home, back to Pittsburgh from Trafford,
the oldies station on the stereo—a song that I do not know
imploring some captain to ride, ride upon his mystery ship.