His one kidney failing
my friend each night
saw visions, unknown
creatures, forms half
human, ghosts, circle
his bed as always tiny
soldiers worked with
tools inside the clock’s
green face to take off
the emerald hour and
minute hand. Glowing
still now they’ve fallen
to the darkened floor.
Nels Hanson has worked as a farmer, teacher and editor. His fiction received the James D. Phelan award from the San Francisco Foundation, and his poetry the Prospero Prize from Sharkpack Review.
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