Duane Koukol: A poem called ‘White Cross Stones’
November 10, 2015
'White Cross Stones'
To the editor:
A partly cloudy day.
Highway, west of Santa Fe.
Sun, broke free, gray clouds.
There on green ridge,
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Shimmering, wet sun, after, noon day rain.
White crosses, neat rows.
Like evenly spaced, diamonds, on strings.
Haled, tightly, over hills.
Thousands of them!
Stories, some, never to be told.
Only one glance, noon, binding four lane!
They quickly, hiding, from sight!
Black clouds, empty, my windshield.
Wipers, play sad, wet songs.
Heading North, highway eighty four home.
Memories, wet, green, flowing, hills, white shimmering crosses, of stone.
To my vet. Brothers,
Written by Duane Koukol