small promise the mountains back deep

in distant dawn as too

 

now a truck slows from great swell

small and low, within

 

bladder is full and cells nervy enough

sing freedom

 

for empty gravel, for roads which run

and the dark differs

 

as all altitudes once, done and knowing this so

the brain springs

 

so settles this indifference as the shake sure

comes as the tuck back

 

and at just-almost, where green of the grass,

frost covers, all eyes for

 

and for boots dusty, red and glad

simply for the cover

 

a cap is pulled as the colder gets and gone

still as waits, the door is open

 

past hay patch and shot rang, and not far off

awaken have the birds

 

Mark Magoon

Mark Magoon writes poetry and short stories, and secret songs for his dog. His poetry can be found in print in After Hours and Midwestern Gothic, and on the web at DIALOGISTGhost Ocean Magazine, and The Nervous Breakdown. His creative nonfiction piece, Chef!Chef!Chef!, can be found at Burrow Press Review. He lives in Chicago with a wife far too pretty.

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