WE MEANDER
I followed the hawk to its perch - we were
watching. The big lady thought it was a soccer ball;
I knew differently. High up on the branch, there it
was. Distance is a geography we mix with.
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I have nothing to conceal, nor pretend .Spaghetti on
the stove is boiling in its water 'A la dente', as my
father would say. Two weeks are more than enough.
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The county of Middlesex, the Township of Woodbridge,
the crowd at Hurd's Brook, the mess at Parker Press.
There was a hanging tree on the old church lawn : a few
names, jotted down, remind us of who was hung.
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And then, here we are, living on - long past circumference,
long past memory; allied now with nothing at all.
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