The darkening hill

by Jon Hamp

Fainting colour on faintest stalk
Hidden from winter’s fist
Lonesome foxes stalk the stores
Panic on the list

Light heads west just after noon
Having never lit the scene
Blue, then black, like a rising tide
steals where the grey has been.

What is it now
That holds us still?
Pinned like flies on this darkening hill.

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