When Riding on Range Road

Green tents piled in packs
of three, tied down by straps
and stacked between
loose cots and bags.
Racks rattled under tarps
split with small cracks of light,
and a breeze that crept between
me and a small opening to my back.
I laid still and silent, pressed even
against the floor, a duffle bag
transformed to a pillow, and my eyes
shut in sleep, carried to a world
where calm is common and worry
only exists in the dreams I see.

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