There’s no tractor this night
with lights working the tired field
as October blusters
onward, shuffling into crackly leaves
and forgotten gourds,
but the hum is present
like maybe it’s always been
but I’ve not been quiet enough to hear it.
There’s no tractor this night
with lights working the tired field
as October blusters
onward, shuffling into crackly leaves
and forgotten gourds,
but the hum is present
like maybe it’s always been
but I’ve not been quiet enough to hear it.
The Word Rummager 
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