1

the raccoon crossing the bridge last
night
its hunch back hobble
it peered at me from
under the guard rail
as I said
it’s alright
it’s alright

2

two raccoons crossing the bridge
last night
guiding each other
to the island
“are the crosses growing?”
the white hand made cemetery crosses
growing taller in the night breeze
a field of multi-colored, rusting
tractors somebody’s only crop
a boy riding one of the best
burying himself in the deepest bloom