We round the bend
on Townline Road, quick punch— indigo enfolds the moment,
our eyes all breast of blue jay
as it swims through air to cedars. Then the split rail fence
gets up, then lies down, resettling
alongside its shadow. A farmer's eye
rolls up
between two horses, the pull on the the pull on the the pull on the bridle. Then the bend is done. We pound our doors.
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