Into the valley

Slanting rain dowers the night, it
streaks the road like gray
hair streaks black hair—tonight it
plays the villain. …he calls,
one by one, the barely visible road
hazard signs—paint dripping
in cold silence, pieces of splintered

wood drinking the wet, run-off water
filling buckets that fill the
streams; upon his face, his skin, sweat
like wet clay—then skidding
tires, through a fence, broken like a
bough. …down a hill through
blackened leaves, silence comes

like a winter’s sleep. …headlights
naked, empty of glass, the
rain leaves, part and parcel; wind
whispers, “is there anyone
alive?” doors ajar, doors off hinges;
driver’s shadow eaten by
the night, slowly he awakens
(thread of life).

Copyright © 10/29/2015 lance sheridan®


This entry was posted in Poetry.

2 comments on “Into the valley

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