Thursday, December 22, 2005

Poem: Kent, Washington



The truck farms
Are still there

Buried down a layer now
beneath tilt-up warehouses

Fin fur flesh and feather
Sustain a faint presence

A robin waltzes in 3/4 time
Around a stranded nightcrawler

She turns and dances
A schottish in 2/4 time

A pale moon hangs
Almost humming overhead

The only thing of beauty
Left in town.
---o0o---

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