by Edward Wilson
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for Lucas
The farther north we drove, the fewer
the fields, the fences tumbled and gapped,
the trees taller, crowding down from the
coast range, the lower the sky and grayer,
the broader the Pacific, the horizon
farther until the light, absentminded
all afternoon, finally forgot before
Lucas found the dirt track and turned
from the immensely mumbling ocean,
following the headlights up the gulch
into the grove. Parked when the road
quit. Went by flashlight along the creek
through bracken and undergrowth.
Moving from room to greater room
whose walls were mist and ceilings fog.