Brian Boutwell
Form of Leaving
I awake in a path cut
through a dense wood, then walk, bending grass into sand, to an untended cotton
field. Here it is dark and hazy. Hard for the eyes to focus.
In the distance something repeatedly flashes. I keep focusing, and see a
combine sunk into the ground, still awaiting a harvest. A child then appears
before me, holding a little canvas and wooden dinosaur carcass. Further beyond
the opening is a tall square building—an hotel—that
has a yellow "no vacancy" sign glitching. I
go toward it and enter in the form of leaving.