The switchback
Climbing
Through live oak
And grass parched
Straw dry
Pulls dusty trains
Of leads followed
Through a shafted sun
Whittled back into
Cold ruts
Of the last rigs
To limber down
Lightly here
A meadow
Straying music
Sounds farther
Up the country
Stuck in a hollow
Rocking
Back and forth
The hollows sounded
All hearing of them lost
On a hogback road
The black sage
Has loudly perfumed
This evening
Crushed inside
Of valley fingers
Minted on the breeze
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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