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         Fold the Dead Leaves

i trust the desert sense i've gained
through all those long cold winter rides,
the many travels of hard black road
and chilled steel, the polished brass
of youth shouted in angered exhaust
and throaty swarm 'cross mountain tops
and wide desert plains

the flights
i found the long nights on desert peaks
cold and nearly unbearably lonely,
i touched the rock and ice face of god
on those nights - no warmth, fairness,
in that savage crude winter

held up next winter
where long freight trains pierced the nights
down the valley toward the south
where she lay
and learned how
love makes a fool of us all

               - bruce g marcot


Notes:  The first stanza refers to the many long solo cross-continent journeys I have taken on motorcycle, across the U.S. many times, through the desert southwest, across Canada, into the Yukon and Alaska, and more.  Those journeys tapered off when I moved to the central Willamette Valley of Oregon - habitat of those long freight trains - and there learned the duplicity of friendship.
    I sketched the background images - pen and ink - about the same time.

- bgm

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