Memory of a Season
an iPoem
by Henry BrooksWe ran along the risen bank of Dead Run,
stopping on occasion to horse-kick
at a sagging ledge and watch it slide down—
through the dusk water, to the creek floor.
We ran along the risen bank of Dead Run,
stopping on occasion to horse-kick
at a sagging ledge and watch it slide down—
through the dusk water, to the creek floor.
