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Country Music

When the dark finds us
full-throated, singing
of bright mother & river-dead men,
& our dim Audrey lost to another,
let the words bless us
somehow, a ceiling of fire
above our heads—
& let The Caller huddle near
with his ether strings, his beautiful
wounds, his waves of grass.
Let us hang in the night until this passes.

Posted 01/06/11
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