I could have this
This charcoal sketched existence at the edge of the world
Two dogs running across the snow
over deer bones and carcasses of small rodents
A trailer filled with the broken spines of first editions
They always smelled of wood fires
and hard cider on Thanksgiving
The horses are buried across the property
and the house is said to be haunted
but the children aren’t here to be frightened
Instead the blue-tick screams late at night
chasing away whatever spirit or coyote has wandered on
from the auxiliary road tracing North Carolina
or the Tennessee laurels above