Sunday, March 16, 2014

Poem: At the funeral of a friend, thinking about sparks

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,
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,
Falling down iron bars
To disappear like fugitives
In a white lake of sparks.
           ---o0o---

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