Page 44 - Vol V. #8
P. 44
35
Riverbank
At dusk they climb down from the ridge, slope dense with goat’s-thorn, and lie
on a low sandy bank. Across
the river limestone cliffs rise straight out of the water. A bad place to sleep if rain comes but they are tired, do not think. Deep
night they wake, cliffs on fire — conflagration, searchlights? Stay
still. Full moon lifts above the ridge, white-gold, illuminates limestone, glow
spilling over the wayfarers. Beyond, somewhere, arpeggio of howls.
