Two Poems

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—————-

REST STOP

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Drawn as though to a lure on a line

the driver parks between rock and far space,

the chill air a whistle along one seam,

its tune a waver, mystical,

like the cry he has caught,

hands loosening the wheel

dropping away

as the wind dies

where he stares

across the barren lot.

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His old van shudders one last time

and is still. Listening to the silence

he frames his complaint:

Utah to the west, Florida to the east,

and here his nadir.

Is there no escape?

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He will stay, he decides,

until the answer comes.

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Meanwhile, on the lone table,

fruit flies on a melon rind.

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———–
RIDDLE

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Quarreling, the first gull flies.

The surging surf has swallowed down the beach.

Without its claw a sand crab dies,

Grappling out of reach.

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For no tide the sea rocks wait.

The summer moon has dwindled from the sun.

A severing fog the damp earth makes,

Trackless, hushed, undone.

——–

(from Poem magazine)

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