In lane 1 squats a racoon,
Thanksgiving Day at noon,
motionless, on its haunches 
staring at I64 pavement.

Along the creek’s unfrozen soft soil
through a blanket of brown oak leaves, 
green briar whips push out red buds,
brush my hand, thorns blood me
four months before spring.

Barn cat retracts its claws from a mole,
seized from a burrow nest
near the firewood pile,
a sacrifice left 
twitching in the dark of its sightless world
at our cabin’s mudroom steps.

I summon myself at 3 o’clock
to photograph the full moon,
stand in brown torn slippers,
a thin blue bathrobe,
on our gravel driveway.
24 degrees cold.
Its pale-yellow face views me, 
a mask in the apse of the sky.


Ron Tobey lives in West Virginia, where he and his wife raise cattle and keep goats and horses. He is an imagist poet, grounding experiences and moods in concrete descriptions, including haiku, storytelling, and recorded poetry, and in filmic interpretation. He occasionally uses the pseudonym, Turin Shroudedindoubt, for literary and artistic work. He has published in several dozen digital and print literary magazines, including Truly U Review,  Prometheus DreamingBroadkill ReviewCabinet of HeedAtticus ReviewPunk Noir, and The Light Ekphrastic. His Twitter handle is @Turin54024117

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