out to the field
muted greens of an age gone by
fifty years or so
eyelids holding the picture
shaking it into view
sunlight forward
fast fading
a million tiny shadows
bowing their heads
she comes in last year’s blanket
tied back and curls
bare skin footfall
dark recesses of her arms
the infant night
and the exhaust of youth
trembling tires
gripped hands
scratched record radio waves
broken voices
bring the darkness
peeking from behind the mountain
door closes
glass surrounds
the submarines of discontent descend
until all is darkness
soft lights and gauges
blanket opens wide
bubbles gasp to the surface
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