Through Thin Slats

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Through thin slats

I see how flat blue hills

wash out to whiter dusk,

rise to garish sky,

where tenuous day presses

even the setting sun

down to shallow glare.

But here, deep within this room;

I am safe, surrounded

by circle of empty chairs….

peaceful meeting,

vacant stares….

where I wait for night

to unfold this paper land.

Then, with bated breath

I’ll hear the fated cry

of coyote,  the riot of

lusty toad.

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