Tuesday, April 23, 2013

April 11


Rainy night. Walls of forest and field slide past the headlights. I drive in and out of sudden pockets of peeper song. The neighbor has cut and burned his hedgerow. A mound of ashes shimmers and winks a hundred golden eyes in the darkness.

Salamander eggs
in the frog pond, but alas—
no mates to man her.

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