Slit
ferocious lightning across
the Mississippi River
the distant long tree rows look
like fogged-in mountain ridges
the Missouri River rushing
toward the Confluence
I walk in a slit of no rain
rain on either side
the air viscous
my breaths labored heaves
clothes pasted with sweat and salt
mosquitoes lounge in the woods
waiting for the blood drive
their whines like tiny sirens
the slit of gurgling creek flooded
the color of coffee with cream,
three does watch me unafraid
“tock-tock” of chipmunks
sounding danger
cicadas waterlogged
and playing out of tune
a fat young man walking by me:
“I’m hunting the bear,
I got a score to settle.”