Wednesday, April 27, 2016

In the Dark Night in the Lonesome Woods the Wind

A little chimney made of sand and pebbles
squats on the bank of the creek, built 
by a crayfish, though she’s never seen him, 
only his mound as it slowly grows 
and gets beaten down by the rain 
and grows again.

She crouches by the carcass of a fox,
its cold pelt covered in ticks.
Peepers chirp so loudly I can’t hear her voice
on the other end of the line
when she passes the bog.

A fat raccoon waddles along the trail,
and when she returns to the creek she’s greeted by
a black bear lumbering through the brush, its coat
blacker than the sky. It ignores her
and disappears into the trees and she makes
a dash for the house, carefully stepping over
the nightcrawlers in the onion patch
stretched out across the furrows to silently mate
before they, like her, slip back into their holes.

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