When the Mountains Go Dark

Shadows along the prairie line,
red skies, haze, coagulation…

there’s winding along a river
made of red boulders, but only

puddles of water. There’s no
relief from the sun for bears

or rattlesnakes gingerly slinking
around cacti–There’s grooves

in the land that hands don’t
need to feel, can’t hide in moonlight.

Nothing to lose, weight of worry
disintegrating with the black,

jagged mass stealing horizon lines,
only carrying a few streetlamps

we can see if we hold our breaths,
focus our eyes on seeing light.

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