the blue fence

the blue fence the black fields the green air and the brown hand prints that stain
the walls
the winds are erratic in narrow patterns of days with circular calms
i am with you in your weather with your fuel burning the air in the room you pace in and out of telling yourself this fire this point this half acre of hands and knees
can be a magnet
of evidence
if you walk in you are never able to be anywhere else
without a part of you missing
and a new growth ignorant of your awkward
collision on the exit into a stall
means fortunes are shifting
it has been one of those weeks
that predicts… a week that can connect the dots…
the cars aren’t moving
in line with the historical average…
the back bone
and feathers
ignore the black snake
in the dune
and walk over the gate in the road
with our machines with our blue picket fences and our jungle of
tangled lines

the blue fence

Anthony DiMichele

Friday Harbor, United States

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