This poem is taken from Stand 219, 16(3) August - September 2018.

Gerry Wells Three Poems
Boys in Blackberry Woods

The sun hangs his hawk on a string, burning autumn rich
a kingdom… the trees sing: hand to mouth they’re struck
sensing deeper rides of appetite. Pied as piper insurgency  
flights blood, brain ‒ they loiter edgily as if unearthed by
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