67. To the Stars Through Difficulty: Thomas Reynolds

In my mind, I walk on and on.
Morning sky beckons, gray and frozen.
An arrow of geese points toward where I know.

Already wind stirs in the bones of my chest.
Blood swirls up like crows startled in the corn.

Like flood water, I rise through grass
to the gravel road atop the levee,
course down tire tracks, then pour over the other side.

From the tangle of bramble and dead limbs I leave behind
all which will, if I fail to move, pin and prick me.

— Thomas Reynolds

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