new incinerator
and
walked in
beyond the ball field
and the railroad yards
(through a gap in the
fence) a maze of
deer paths
still holding thin snow
they move back here
unnoticed, through
black locust trees and
ravenous vines - I
came looking for bones
or antlers (something
for the boys) and turned
instead to human traces
cobalt blue and amber
bottles gripped in
bared root systems
rust-laden bed frames
(sleep, darling, dream
) junk, grown lustrous
proof of life
on the drive home
there's not one song
the radio sings
honestly
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