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C o d y B a d a r a c c a
Nature's Morse Code
Even after turning down the road towards home,
with dust rearing up and Hahn’s Peak bearing the thick weight
of the horizon, the landscape of home,
your scent is still kicking my olfactory in the teeth
and I’m dreaming of red dirt
that you bathe yourself in until you are the color of rust.
And in every dream, a high Oklahoman sun bears down
to witness our shadows escape from underneath us
and fight each other in the dirt clearing like black roosters.
The clouds of dust spelling out songs in the wind
like smoke signals.
Allie Marini Batts
Larry D. Thomas
Pat M. Kuras
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