The concrete apartment building two blocks west appears to be sinking in the swell of a darkness that blows, rains.
Straight ahead, that's my horizon--the building and a row of thirty-year-old trees.
When I was a boy in these parts I was taller than any tree south of 25th avenue.
Next will come lightning when it comes.
2 comments:
See Elizabeth Philips' fabulous "when I was a boy" poems in Torch River.
Ah, yes. And fine poems, those.
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