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Witness Tree Junction, Rochelle, FL

We walk the dry path—it hasn’t rained for months—
through pine stand, hammock, dessicated swamp.
The still-hot sun is veiled by merciful clouds.
Hundreds of robins flush—it’s a sharp-shinned
hawk, while far from this transitive landscape
appalling darkness prepares for its pomp
and circumstances. There must be a map
in the lush, ever-vernal grace of language
that might help us emerge from the gloom,
though I can’t hear it now. Old sounds: shrouded
whispers, in tongues, the hum between love
and the battered earth’s bruised chorus.
A golden orb-weaver hangs in her loom
of evanescence and calmly observes us.

                                            November 9, 2016

Sidney Wade

Cimarron Review

Winter 2017

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