The Sleepy Hollow Motel

sky above, thunder below

South Range, Wisconsin — Photos by Jonathan Potter ⓒ 2024

The Sleepy Hollow Motel,
between the thumb and forefinger
of westernmost Gitche Gumee,
is where my love and I lie
in the innocence of love
and the guilt of humankind.

We’ve dined on peanut butter
and bread and the last few ounces 
of the Monkey’s Shoulder we brought
with us from Washington State
(a gift from a Spokane friend,
now transformed to emptiness).

And now, after making love,
we sink into the innocence
of sleep, with thoughts of Bob Dylan’s
childhood home in the hills of
old Duluth, regretting not
visiting the typewriters

of the Hunker Bunker and
Mr and Mrs Peterson 
on the other side of the bridge.
We wish them well and travel
on in innocence and guilt
to seek the next horizon.

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