
Poem: Between Hills That Were and Hills That Are
Between Hills That Were and Hills That Are I can’t remember the boy Who passed through the windshield. Never before, nor after—acquaintance At a party, arguing with some other stranger, Shoved out the door they then both were gone. Walking wild, someone recalled, afterwards, Willing his scored and blind body forward. Which is more dreaded : the gruesome Thing that is, or a thing so innocent, soon Become gruesome? Some few weeks The mark went road to field— Tread and blood, bl