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 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 DIALOGIST, Ghost 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.
