Day Four

At ease… we lie against the cold shadows
of the shacks, some weeds or tumbleweeds
tickling my nose, but you are the one who’s
sensitive to all the buzzing we can’t see…

There was more beige than green in the fields
we grew up in, more dirt and wind than storybooks
portray of us, the simple folk in the middle
of the country… Not us. Lighting whirly-birds,

orange bursts swirling down to our feet, hold
breath, stare into the ground until it catches–
but it never does. Don’t dig too deep, you
never know what realities will dig into you first…


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