• Original Poetry

    Call & Response

    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