The White Night Falling
When it becomes another summer,
She is still hurt. It has come
Down upon her.
In one of their two tents
On the sand, she oversleeps
And wakes between a footprint
And a mountain
Only to step on a nail.
She will take a boat
To the river tomorrow.
Together, the game animals
Travel in another way
Towards a specific destination.
They are scarce. The ocean
Rises, trims their shore.
Joan Kane
Posted over on Absent Magazine
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