Dry Creek By Cole N. Foster, Alamosa, CO Tic, tic, tic, tic, tic – the mouse trundles his tiny trail Just inches back of my head, on the edge of the crusty canvas wall Of the tent Carroll bargained for at the San Diego Goodwill And the pinpoint raindrops murmur on and on, so gentle That the tics resound in the November naked aspen grove Pattering back and forth, back and forth, sniffing morning Breakfast, hoping for a minute rent in the ancient fabric So I lie wrapped in down, not sleeping, not caring that I’m not sleeping, but resting ...