my accomodationyou see as intent
my trepidation
is in my tent
my campfire is made out of foil
my fingers tremble
even as they coil
around the reins

my pitstick
is whittled and sharp
cold embers
glow in the dark
if I had a camera
kind of reddish brown
I’d take a picture of this spot right here
and sell it back in town
and hold tight the reins

 

Copyright Hills Snyder, 1986.