Original Poetry

Call & Response

October 16, 2019 /

Call & Response

His rumbled questions come to me in dark
morning air, syllables of bass
thrumming as he hides against the bark,
beak and eyes alive in sculpted face —

And from the woods, ethereal and eerie
sings a specter-horse, October’s rider
chills our dreams, keeps us ever leery
of shapes unseen in air that tastes of cider.

~ by S.K. Orr

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