The wood murmurs

receives forceful kisses

and her bashful moans are the river in

Absentia. Afterwards,

they speak of Rain.


Sky’s prolonged rend.

Burning Manzanita:

“Some supersonic machine come to gift

us our Bomb,” knowingly

to Cotton-tail.


The striking of

the towhees, the wild sage,

the quail hen hurrying her brood, furtive

Coyote, black bugs; All

us tiny drums.


Joseph Byron Bennett

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