old poem #2
Posted on | October 20, 2009 | No Comments
“Arrival”
The last cloud has turned over
and the last light has fallen from the sky
the double barrel streetlights cry
their elongated reflections
across the surface of the river:
shivering,
with the premonition of a cold july,
like magnet furs
suspended between bridges.
longer than the church steeples
that dominate the starless sky,
I,
and everyone else here
cringe like heartburn.
fallen trees like creaked fingers
dip ripples into the Kennebec
pointing down
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