By Jack Brummet
Sitting
sad and contemplative at a funeral,
I think
about the firefall of light I saw today
Pouring from a rising skyscraper.
The welder is a star thrower,
Pouring from a rising skyscraper.
The welder is a star thrower,
And
constellations of pale yellow sparks
Tumble
from a heaven of beams and girders
Strung
with wire and pipe.
Those sparks are like her words,
Those sparks are like her words,
Falling
down iron bars
To disappear like fugitives
In
a white lake of sparks. To disappear like fugitives
---o0o---
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