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  • Twilight nears
    I listen from bed as two cars, miles apart, far away, begin their long commute.
    I have never seen them, nor they, the other.
    But I hear them as if they brushed us by.
    In the dark
    each day
    nearby roads' only traffic, they drive.

    In the woods two packs of coyotes fiercely, collectively yipping, outshout the other.

    In the dark, I lift the cook stove lid and if I am lucky there are embers I can grow to fire. Onto that, the percolator, and then I sink back into bed, hoping to wake with hot coffee at dawn.

    At 5, the chickens still nestle quietly in their coop.
    An owl hoots and
    as spring approaches
    I dream of the whippoorwill's dark songs.
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