A Chevy engine hangs by a chain From a limb of the spreading ponderosa. The toolshed smells of stale blood And is padlocked. Trying not to be afraid explains everything. A riding boot slit down both seams Lolls behind the open door. The rising sun peeks under cloud cover @3As if for purposes of identification@1 And then disappears for the day. Hush now, I promise not to tell any stories With everyone afraid and trying not to be. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |