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Friends of Acadia Poetry Award - Honorable Mention
Marsh Road
An old church drew us through the dark
beyond the senior center, dead leaves
spooking from the wheels.
We left the headlights on, and waded
gingerly between the graves,
to a door so black we reached out
to feel if there really was a door,
not just a thicker darkness. An old church
draws around it more than local history
hung out when its bones have bleached.
Whatever else was living in that place
woke in the trees and thundered
to a new perch. We took the turn
to Ransomıs Island, silent as the marsh grew,
the road a black thread holding us
suspended in the slow exchange of earth
and water. Yellow chevrons started up
to warn us in the corners and the moon's
lantern grin slid sideways through the trees.
The watchmanıs shack was leaking
blue light at the bridge
and where the island stopped the moon
was gone and water had its own light
the white boats danced in.
We found an empty house
buoyant in dry grass,
and watched the foaming ebb of stars,
and heard the wings
still beating dark branches in our heads.
- Ralph Stevens
Ralph Stevens lives in Islesford, Maine.
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