Pale Here
caleb jones
It’s pale here
All morning smoke and mountains
And clear
Like jars poured out and hung up on twine
Stories told to no one outside
Like a wedding veil on a child bride
It’s bright here
All water hose and tree branch
And dirt
Like gardens grown and grilling fresh corn
Digging up the place I was born
Like a lightning bug in a room alone
It’s dark here
All jet black dogs and hallways
And sound
Like purple shadows drowning dead stars
Finding out how awful you are
Like a flower bulb being pulled apart
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