Thursday, February 5, 2009


there's a window here through which
you can see no sky,
the skeletal winter branches of an oak
rubbing against the faded paint
of a brick building,
built sometime
before the new deal, but after
the automobile
greening copper on the roof,
starting to moss over
with age
over which a skyscraper looms,
shadowing everything in its path, even

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