jeffcovey.net

i sit in my car for hours as the mountains sweep toward me, pick me up, throw me over their shoulders.

the bells of the cathedral clang through the night like faces in nursing home windows and sink into the river like black panthers into the green. i crept by this music upon the waters, up the cool stone face of the steeple (where the rainwater had left stains running down), placed one worn shoe on…

beneath the swaying white wagon top he walks, she rides through the tall grass that bends noiselessly beneath the wheels. he, beside the team, surveys a world shut in by the brim of a hat, locked into its place, each hill new and familiar as if waiting ten thousand years in the same place to…

the fog drifts up the mountain, a slithering ghost scratching its toes against the treetops. it sees the dawn, lingers a moment, and is gone.