Make little dimples in the air,
the ones you drew in water, the currents –
the sounding of the horns; the hunt.
The leaves flow down, they pause for breath –
and the source of beat, the sound of heat,
the blemished skin.
Take care en route, spattered signs – windblown,
yielding – cold, cold, cold.
Twirl up and receive submission, the guide, the
snort and diem.
2010 Barry Comer