Obscure
Early enough in the day,
Surely I’m about to surprise myself.
If I listen good, I hear
The momma turkey conducting
Her eight chicks across the trail
I will reach in five clicking minutes,
The light a perfect yellow fade
Into scrub hickories thick
As a full court press.
A fat copperhead, still full of night,
Crawling toward the granite
Aperture of his domain
Pauses to blend with pine needles
In a slow pitch of shadow
I pass without knowing.
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