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I love these

nowhere cottages

the folds in the hills

the chamomile fields

half-gone foxglove


Narrow roads

with no edge

and broken off bits

of white lines

Tunnels of green

and railroad tracks flickering

in and out of view

Roads curving away

from the edge of

a steep cliff

Spindly, silvery bridges and

the cat’s eye glare of roadway rods

at deep deep dusk

The pearly white


each car riding

in their own sphere

of light

The high breath

of purple fog

waiting out over the ocean

I am at distant home again

as constellations drift slowly by