For Bill

 

the dusk of time when dreams become tangible animals loosed to the world

flashes rise before me with the smell of burnt motor oil and engine heat

a movement–a burst of motion outstretched

a length of brown reaching across our path

 

the nighttime is on my tongue

I swallow flashes of light, peripheral and brief

a hushed buzz vibrates the air

the round tone of a distant frog answered by one near

slicing sounds of insects then sudden silence

 

my clothes drape with the heaviness of the air

freedom, always freedom, when this summertime weight falls on me

my body moves through the underbrush

here, where the night knows me

 

*remembering a magical moment when my brother and I rode a four wheeler through the Forked Deer River Bottom at night and a doe jumped in front of us.

 

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