from the safety of a nearby hill
she watched the militia sneak
from the corners. of his mouth
dirt billowing around their worn boots
when they hit the paisley carpet
echoing the steady
of her heartbeat
as they headed into battle

she say
inevitably captivated
watching the whites of his eyes
the sound of scrawling pens
may as well have been fingers
fumbling to load bullets
into granddaddy shotguns
while he built her worlds
out of his words
and panoramas
out of his paragraphs

September 27, 2020
[for the best storyteller I know]

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