the wide white fields lay sleeping
their cut down cornstalks littered
like volleys of arrows
from an innumerable enemy
the forgotten victims blanketed
beneath the muddied snow
without a limb or weapon
to break through the season's cover
and mark this mass grave
a few deer bound through the lines
navigating their ranks like looters
but they're moving on to richer pasture:
their silhouettes creep closer
forming a train of shadows
towards the fluorescent hedge mazes
of a midwestern Avalon and Valhalla
where the bordering tenants leave out birdseed
and close their gray doors at sundown
soaked with a drizzle triduum
and a rolling mist to obscure distant miles
the road shines black and gray
reflecting the light caught in suspended droplets
from the hissing headlights and taillights
which float down the opposing highway
ignorant of this abandoned battlefield
and my slithering figure in the valley between them
