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Aug 2014
somebody left the gate open
and I am gone, past the fence
into the fields, in a blue filter,
naked and clothed in hair, snitched
by the call of a whippoorwill, ambushed
by tall grass and the merciless branches of
pines. Somebody left the gate open and I
am gone, yellow dogs peel from the bark
like old Cherokee tales and race my heels
with their tongues and big almond eyes

Somebody left the gate open.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
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