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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