Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Her Slow and Downward Line

This one appeared online in Pedestal. Read it here:

Her Slow and Downward Line

August and morning. Growl and mumble of a tractor
where they´re building those new offices, over
where the old ones burned. Here, breezes in the leaves
and the crickets making up this summer´s entry
on the theme of love and death.

Now the pink is gone, the sky comes into its blue,
first blue. The light seems to come from below the clouds,
which are wispy and scarce. It makes their presence
more like that of bodies, things alive and attentive.
The moon´s still out despite the daylight, halted on her
slow and downward line, yesterday´s moon, no wish
to disappear just yet.

The bus pulls up, a man gets off, it puffs a cloud of
black and lumbers off again, he passes with an
inward face, preoccupied. The milky light of a hot
morning, shadows hide beneath the leaves.

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