enter the frame

zoe and i lying down on the
metal ridges of the truckbed
during the ride home
how the moon follows us
and the trees look good from here
and the old church house tells us
something about where we are

how only a few things enter the frame:
the top of a silo
seed pods and the branches they dangle from
(locust trees)
slight pink/gray of clouds to the east
in a dusking sky
the tops and tassles of rows of corn
the telephone wire and the tops of the posts
that hold it up

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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