a poem every day (or something close to that)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
the Streets of Seattle
The ice will trick you the moment you look away.
It's the difficulty that makes winter so precious.
The water crackles
as the smokers lean out their windows.
The blizzard is receding:
shiny fingers melting off the sidewalk,
lazy tires hiss sloppily in their chains,
the railroad is exposed
white with geometry.
3 days in
By this time
all the streets are crumpled & gray.
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