In Rural November


Bare deciduous
trees
brush

He wanders dirt roads
rut and mud
to the bridge at Ross Creek

He follows the stream
toward home
growing narrower
and shallower
with willow thickets
closing in

He has to crawl to pass through
over the yellow
narrow fallen leaves
and there on his knees
he finds
goldfish
huddling in the drying
                        clear puddles

He is worried that they will
die in these wallows

and scoops them with his hands putting
some in his pockets and
holding others
                                       as many as he can
safe
against his chest


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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


Some of these poems originally appeared in the following publications

Avocet
Dream International Quarterly
mojo risin'
The Muse Apprentice Guild (The MAG)
Transfer

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