In The Dark
By Hannah Pedersen
The yelling waits, inside.
The field’s alert and attentive:
The mouse, the viper.
I’ve come out here to disguise,
against our house, below the accusing sky, frozen
of what our bodies made.
To keep running: Mexico...
These are the hours the men stay inside.
San Carlos Sonora against the anger of the heat,
a coast to run.... I wait
it out. It’s all tried.
The aspecto deep and permanent
into our pale before.
The borders locked in patrol.
The slam nearby, of a door.
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The Nights
By Geoffrey Brock
The screamer sleeps, inside.
The desert's wide awake:
the mouse, the rattlesnake.
I've come out here to hide,
behind our house, below
the riddled sky, afraid
of what our bodies made.
To the south: Mexico...
These are the nights men run.
Guaymas before midday,
a beach-town life...I play
it out. Such things are done.
The Rincons seep like a stain
into the paling east.
The borders are policed.
The wail, nearby, of a train.
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