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M a r g a r e t Y o u n g
Southbound
Down the hill where Baird Road crosses
the Vermilion River, after pausing
to admire the green door, Thursday
weighing on your shoulders, you will
be turned by winds of mercy
to race beneath a sky blue as a pilot light
between gold streaks of clouds. On Quarry
Road, elk stand silent behind chain link
smelling the fallen corn, the year fading
like a scar, like tracks in rain.
Michael Kriesel (ii)
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