Things Continue

The dogs have already run

by nine

on wintermorn,

clearing out migrant wings

near the line

where I've let the pasture go;

let it go to return

as forests of my grandchildren's

time.  And it'll be a while

before anyone can walk

in shadows of those little oaks.


The tests will come back


and he'll know results

that will change


regardless of what they show;

I said a prayer

standing  in the backfield

there.  And they say we've just

missed an Oklahoma ice storm

that decided to go north.


The smell of onion

on my hands

from supper

the night before, it lingers


like benevolent lightening scars

on west-facing glass.

Think I'll drive down to

Warm Springs today; there's a tea room

that mixes fruit and meat

beyond the point of caring.


words: L. Ward Abel, Georgia (universecanoe)
photo: Steve Wing, Florida (sand shadow)


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