How sweet the supposition placed
in another time on this landscape:
the touch and swirl of old fantasies
that would have made good stories
when we could get along with our mounts.

Just beneath the surface, this ground
rich for vivid video, Earl brings
his book and tells of the hex, the cauldron
boiling along the ditch, witches’ flesh
in a naked circle dancing, he left out

to protect the living—yet grinning
as he shares it. There were few secrets
among the oaks, and space enough
for strong notions, odd ways, unholy
characters lurking in the grainy shadows

of black and white photos, blown up.
How we sweet the supposition
that we fell with grace—acorns close
to imperfect oaks to quell our sermons
summoned from self-righteousness.

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