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by Mark Jackley




Called In For Questioning

At The Sheriff's Department


sunbeam on the floor

of the waiting room dusty

path through the iron 

bars of our wounds




a line, (a short blue one)



Scattering Ashes



from our cars,


the spring wind trying to lift us




a line, (a short blue one)





I was the starling-

rumbled maple

you the squad of black

detectives toying with

the witness emptying

drawers a sword of light

from a cracked door how we beamed

galaxy of two

moons orbiting a secret




a line, (a short blue one)



Tourists, Petroglyphs, Colorado River


hunters too we murmur

chiseling our words

in the sun and wind

as always stalked by time

silence and erasure

under inky crows

screeching in the sky,

sharpening their point



a line, (a blue one)


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