Paul sits by the window.
A curl of chimney smoke obscures the moon.
He holds a chicken drumstick in one hand.
Grease slicks the skin around his mouth.
The bone is nearly picked clean.
He chews the last fat.
Paul sorts through last month’s good words.
He selects the humble ones.
He writes on cabin logs below the window
with charcoal still steaming from the fire.
He draws the gibbous moon
at the end of his carbon script.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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