Chicory Mid-October Morning

wall of earth is sunken

story out of doors

famously here leaves clouds

for rivers to sit and have coffee

now refined stormy weathers

where callers lead us every damn place

we go in unacquainted territories of

very much alive resistors

with greening hymns of aristocracy

you are used to bitter mornings

touched in tin-clad wooden

indians barely in their nickels

to beat this dime game