243 – the dry time

the dry time

leave the city before
rain comes

split the juniper wide open
to chew its spiced meat

a rock on the tongue cuts

smell the sage, alfalfa
sweet grass burn

out west dark clouds nuzzle
the mtn

cool wet wind

the dry time, sand in shoes
and dusty maps

chapped kisses zinging
like heat lightening

late nights out
gin cracking cubes

cicada songs hums
up under skin

over, turned
like a stone

in soft dirt
worms squiggling

among winter squash
trumpeting their arrival

soon: cling of wool
soon: fires moved indoors

soon: the harvest moon
rolls around again

soon: peat smoke
smoldering dark dreams

of whiskey plums
fallen leaves piled

to rot of the crack
of thunder

and open skies
pouring out and out


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