Poem, Poetry

Mark Mayes

Into the Long Grass

And when evening came,
he took the lane again.
A dog barked behind the pond.
The sun, an egg yoke,
oozed into the trees.

A rusty gate
still warm from the day.
A block of ice in his chest
melted away.

Somewhere beyond sight,
a gun cracked hollow
across the fields.

Then everything
was deeply quiet,
deeply still.

Mark Mayes has written novels, short stories, poems, songs, and a few pieces of non-fiction. He has been published widely in magazines and anthologies, and has also self-published several books. 

1 thought on “Mark Mayes”

  1. This is quite beautiful. So much in so little. The juxtaposition in the second stanza is brilliant. Can I ask if the spelling of ‘yoke’ is intentional or a typo?


Comments are closed.