Of a course (after Emily Dickinson's #49)

Of a course

The summer’s army hums

Still in this lot-allot this song

Toward many broad nights

All bleary-eyed

Cross fields of Dove

And kills of Cole

To lay down brown

On river’s edge

Scaffold to

A piping wren

Shaken feet

Of clay and soot

That smell of muskrat

Housed in banks

Unbearing wind

And godly springs
November sets 

It's bones

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016