centuries standing down the ridge / them that are left after tornadoes and fire and heavy snow / some wavering the wind the way / tired old soldiers might / after seeing too much fallen timber / towards the creek that some say / leads to a heaven of endless arteries / guarded by eternal sycamores
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Mick Parsons
Poet. Essayist. Fictioner. Steamboat fireman. Bit of a grackle.
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