by Barry Basden
A crisp autumn afternoon
in a field of broken shadows.
The rabbit bursts from cover,
bounding.
My 12-gauge tracks smoothly
across the artist before me and
fires,
a thunder clap
echoing away to distance.
In the ringing air,
lost paintings bleed acrylic
down the evening sky,
foretelling dream shards and
hollow midnights,
played in endless loops.
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Barry Basden lives in the Texas hill country with his wife and two yellow Labs. He’s been published here & there and edits Camroc Press Review at www.camrocpressreview.com. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 