A LOW SUN

It’s a high place. A steep

yielding to barren openness.

A story of peoples, strong,

rigid as the soil, long suffering,

squinting at a low sun.

Crowded forests dream of wide

horizons while shouldered tight

to branches unlike their own.

City people. The release of flesh onto

streets and into buildings; the exhaust

of words bleeds dry all meaning.

The dream of long away bathes

willingly in the hope that faith

eventually arrives.

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