Fabrice Poussin

Treasure

POETRY ISSUE #45

Where it Hunts

By Kelly Weber

 

On a day still half-winter, I hike a trail through the short grass prairie on the edge of town named for / a woman who willed that it be preserved. Meadowlarks whistle yellow holes in the air from the posts / rising out of the ground. Ripples circle outward from the mallards floating in the shallow pools…
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