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Greg McVerry



To Gonzos of the plow
put forth seeds
falling from neither's hand
grasped together on the wink
of
the wind
working words into fields
of wheat
our awn of brittle destinies
glistening tall on
a head of emptiness full of
it all
leaves drenched
in memories that fade in
morning sun
as collaborative light spills
A Cambridge combine
harvesting art for
some Mountain farmer
lost in poem

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