right hand pointing

 

     
  Howie Good

Black Creek

 


God, you observed,
is man’s greatest invention.
Or maybe it was someone else
walking the creek with me,
invisible birds screeching
like nails being pulled
from protesting wood
and the sun dropping
warm, white blossoms.
What I mean to say is
we’re asleep, no, awake
and full of wild misspellings.

 

 

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