Rural Glimmers

In the country, we do not have city shine, we have luster, we have the glimmer of voles, the fumes of turbid crawlers under the slow burn of iridescent woods. We who night-watch see from sunken waters, gather light from luminous cisterns. We understand black; how it sheens the clapper claw. On the pitch of the concealed a country ken leads us to a quickened vision, we see as a horse sees fleeing from a fire breathing barn.