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The Scarecrow Dreams

by Ljubo Popovich

Like a woolgathering ghost
The homeless scarecrow
Waits for moonlight.

Ruminating crows flick his hat brim,
As the blood-blister sun sets.

Across his desolate demesne
Rust-colored trucks trample
The crepuscular dunes.

A grackle shivers dewdrops
Out of its Stygian raincoat.

Toads come out to stargaze,
Like goosepimples betwixt
Polished blades of grass.

Owls rustle in the amniotic dusk,
Olive oil eyes glistening.

The muted air is tinctured
By a shy moon.

The soft cacophony of traffic fades,
Making way for thunder.

Beyond the scintillating trees
Other threadbare scarecrows
Return from the freeway underpass
To cluster around glowing barrels.

Their faces briefly glisten,
Eyes capturing dewdrop stars.

His hayloft belly expands
As he breathes deeply.
The air is rich enough.
He almost forgets his hunger.

Copyright © 2018 by Ljubo Popovich

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