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a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

Cooling

Trees ever reach up and out
toward the energy of the burning ball 
a skrillion miles away. There's a cosmic 
river of heat between here and there 
of ever decreasing 
temperature, 
like coffee in a porcelain cup on 
the hood of your grandfather's truck 
the morning 
of his funeral.

Road Prayer

Ephphatha ("Be Opened")