Poem for Friday, June 28, 2013

Two Lovers

In the hill country, the winding curves tend to lull me
to sleep. My dreams go like this:

Somewhere out there, two lovers are making love
in a pile of alfalfa hay while the sun cooks their
young limbs. When they finish, she curls into sleep
imagining how their children will look. He slips off
into the woods, treks a dry creek bed and cuts
his leg on a jagged rock. His blood forms a new
river.

Minutes later: the stink of dead coon. I awake then,
lost in an army of black-eyed Susans.