Hunting the Cotaco Creek
by Charles Ghigna
His hand in hold so trigger tight even
its blood believes in ghosts. It clings with set
finger on steel and waits inside a dream
of ducks. The twilight gives into a rise
of eastern sky as sun reveals herself
too proud and instantly receives full face
a splash of mallard flock. A shotgun blasts
the yellow into streaming pinks and gives
the creek its new day taste of echoed blood.
Two green head...
Currently there are 0 comments.
Comments
Please login to leave a comment or Register Now to start leaving comments.
