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Douglas Cole

Cabin in the Darkness when I rise the world’s not yet invented I start a fire and make coffee feel rain in the air above the back porch gazing where not even a star is born in years eaten by a factory and time lost in traffic time lost in the corner bar with people I seem to know though I don’t know their names who come for the same reason I do not to be alone though alone is what I am now stripping the shingles from the house to burn through winter

The Road No One Goes Down A cabin under moss, half-buried in the hillside, smoke stream from a chimney, old world fog rolling through— it takes incredible patience to know how each drop of rain cuts away a layer of chains, and water can tell you how it took down mountains and now it liberates you— can you imagine it? This weight gone? To operate in the silence that is the heart of music, the sound of the unstrummed chord? Leaves tremble from the impact of invisible storms, tails whipping the empty air, and all the thought that brought you to a cabin that shimmers in the mist with something to escape from far behind you and a place you might call winter opens a heavy door to good warmth deep inside and an option on forever.

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Profile for FLAR

Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review Spring/Summer 2018  

Volume 6, Issue 1 Spring/Summer 2018 FLAR is a biannual anthology of literature and art from around the world.

Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review Spring/Summer 2018  

Volume 6, Issue 1 Spring/Summer 2018 FLAR is a biannual anthology of literature and art from around the world.

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