Saturday, April 5, 2014

Rain / Dream: 5

Rain / Dream: 5

Cloud-climbers... speckle-eyed eagles....
You sense ancient ghost-wolves slicing hard
through coulees... a hundred years ago:
a plywood saloon gone a hundred years.

The dead pencil-in your name,
sing like poured sugar, more a bone-grind
than the expected yowl and groan.

Black evergreen branches
claw and scratch the farmhouse roof.

A rain-purple afternoon sky...
the confusion of waking
on a bed of  tractor-ripped sagebrush.

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