HORIZON: November 14, 2016

 

A giant copper moon flares on the lake

in the early dark, and on the car radio, talk.

Talk trying to chew despair. Talk about fear

to hide fear. Talk about talk about talk.

Fifty cents, a dollar a word. It is all just talk

 

until it isn’t. A day may come soon when

we have to pay with our lives for the lives

of our friends. What else did we ever have

to pay with? What else were we ever for?

Each ripple on the lake is a lick of flame.

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