These fields we’ve known –
They are Me and I am Them.
Death everywhere, inglorious.
Overland, the horizon –
as wayward danger awaits underfoot.
Without delay,
without a word,
we send another for
the lost messenger.
Remember
the swing bridge over
the Red River?
None went in after
the one swept under.
Overland, the horizon –
as wayward danger awaits underfoot.
Without delay,
without a word,
we send another for
the lost messenger.
That cable gave –
she sank swift as stone
drawn down alone among
the breathless below.
Shades of flesh and bone.
Seed husks,
petals pressed in mud.
Now, Go.
And bring her home.
Overland, the horizon –
as wayward danger awaits underfoot.
Without delay,
without a word,
we send another for
the lost messenger –
– and another for the lost messenger
– and another for the lost messenger
– and another for the lost messenger
© 2020.