Thursday, November 3, 2011

November 3 2011

those days when sunlight cracks wide &
spills like egg upon the river, it stings my eyes
We pause to consider the shoulders
of roof tops, straigtening themselves upright,
preparing for the onslaught of snow.
The fog has eyes and watches, still as a cell tower.
the jets overhead scratch at the stone blue
sky, like fingernails etching into ice.
The corn has browned, its wrinkled face remembering
every verdant moment.
amputated trees, tossing limbs everywhere
no longer gaze upward and pray.
the agnostic cold has settled everything.

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