Bitterroots, Montana

         after Bobbie McKibbin
 
The fog lifts off wheat fields
into the dawn midafternoon’s become.
Horses appear, disappear again to canvas.
 
I drive down the Bitterroot Valley. Air
opens before the car, reveals pavement,
lines white, yellow, still present in half-
hidden space. 
 
It’s easy to see present, not present.
More difficult to see blankness as shadow,
to frame the open as always incomplete.


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Published in Red Paint Hill